


All of My Love

by Reb_Yell



Series: How Everything Still Turns to Gold [6]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Not Dawson friendly, Otis will never die in my world, Season 11 or something like that by now AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reb_Yell/pseuds/Reb_Yell
Summary: She's left wondering if he has any idea how the rest of the world sees him or if he looks into some alternate dimension every time he looks into a mirror. Still, she thinks she should be grateful for all of it - even all the weird crap and the nasty crap and the just plain crap - because when she looks at that bed during story-time each night, she sees everything she's ever wanted and everything he's ever wanted, and that makes it perfect even when it's far from perfect.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Series: How Everything Still Turns to Gold [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699705
Comments: 85
Kudos: 139





	1. The Journal

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been awhile. I've tried something new in the early chapters' style for this story. It was the only way I could seem to get Matt's voice to work. Updates may not be daily, but I do have enough of this story completed now to guarantee that I WILL finish it. The first several chapters may be hard-going for some people, as it deals with a difficult issue and the timeline is a bit complicated. The story takes place after Casey #4 is born, but utilizes basically a form of flashbacks to tell some of the preceding months.

She knew Matt had been keeping a journal, it was part of his ‘homework’ from Dr. Sandlin, to try writing out things each day to help him decide what to talk about in therapy or just to talk about with Sylvie or whomever he needed to address an issue with in his life. She knew he’d kept it up even after he’d stopped seeing Dr. Sandlin. She hadn’t wanted him to stop therapy, but he’d won that argument with all the medical bills from Alec’s NICU stay and her bed-rest putting a major dent in their finances, plus the busyness of a new baby and a toddler at the same time. She hadn’t set out to snoop or read his journal. She had always thought that he should have at least that as his bit of privacy. Everyone was entitled to a bit of privacy even in a marriage. But after everything, with everything, that had happened in the last year, Matt wasn’t talking to her and he wasn’t going to therapy, and she was worried about him. He was there, living in their house (though in the upstairs guest room, not the master), but he was distant with her, never the boys. She had tried talking to him, but she got the sweetest, most stubborn, most endearing, and most stupidly self-sacrificial stonewall of Matt just insisting he was fine, she shouldn’t worry about him, basically life was all about her and the boys. Sylvie disagreed. Vehemently. What worried her though was that it had taken this long for her to…well, notice. Because for months it had been exactly that – all about her, and then all about Alec and her, and Jack of course, but Matt got lost in the shuffle. So much had been going on, Matt had been the only stable one in the house really, and just like a good foundation, he’d been vital to survival but no one noticed that he was taking so much weight. So, stumbling across his journal while she was cleaning felt like temptation, to know his thoughts, but to violate his privacy, to be able to help him, but possibly violate his unspoken trust, she had debated with herself. Her worry that he was not okay at all won out over her worry that he’d be angry, hours after she’d first realized that he’d left his journal on the desk in the guestroom.

* * *

I don’t think I’m supposed to write anything like ‘dear diary’. I’m a grown man, not a middle school girl. Christie used to have a diary. I never read it. I told her I did to make her mad a couple times. When she was sixteen, I told her I’d read it and that’s how I knew she’d slept with Paul Shannon. I hadn’t read it, though I had found a condom wrapper in her room. I was just mad at her. I can’t remember why. I just remember I was mad and I wanted to make her feel as mad or maybe bad as I did. I was twelve. Stupid. She was screaming about me when Dad ‘broke up the fight’ as he usually did. He told Christie to shut up, stop yelling, he was trying to watch Wheel of Fortune. He loved that show. I can’t stand to watch it. I hope the rambling works in this. Dr. Sandlin said not to edit myself. Dad told Christie to shut up, she told him I was in her room, reading her diary, and he asked if I’d read anything worth yelling about and I could see her realize if I told she was in deep shit. Of course I didn’t. I said no and it was just stupid stuff about Carrie wearing the same skirt as her and crap like that. Dad’s belt left my lower back, ass and thighs bruised to hell for days. His aim was shit when he was more than a couple beers in, which he was. He must’ve been off that day, I don’t remember. We never told Mom. I can’t remember where she was, she wasn’t home. Christie must’ve felt bad. She took her obnoxious brother out in public for ice cream that Friday. She usually hated being seen with me. I was dopey, kind of ugly, a really awkward kid. Puberty is a bitch. Dr. Sandlin said there’s no real point to this, just to write what I’m thinking. Jack is crying.

* * *

  
The entry cut off there. This was early on, before they even knew she was pregnant with Alec, let alone the problems started. Part of her wanted to delve into his memories of his childhood, wanted to read all of it just to find out what he never told her, probably never told anyone. He’d always insisted his father wasn’t abusive of him, just his mom, but Sylvie had suspected and now had proof. Matt might call it ‘discipline’ but leaving bruises on a child is never discipline. He knew that, deep down, she knew he did, because they’d already talked about discipline styles for their sons, and while he wouldn’t rule out a spanking, Matt had been very firm (and she was in total agreement) that lots of other things should be used first. She knew Matt would never react like that to a fight between their boys. She fought off the temptation to read more, to find out if he talked anymore about his personal history. This wasn’t about Matt’s childhood. She skipped ahead. She wasn’t going to read it all, no need to violate his privacy completely, she just was looking for…well, what was bothering him. Or at least what was making him distant. The damage she’d done. That’s all. She was just looking for the stuff since bedrest really. April. That was about right.

* * *

I try to write in this at least a couple times a week. Dr. Sandlin has me talk about what I’ve written most weeks. Not in detail. Just what I want to deal with. There’s no rules about things we can’t talk about, I don’t think, I mean, it’s therapy. I write whatever. But I know I won’t talk about it with her. Maybe, no, it’s too weird. But writing does help. I won’t say it’s like telling someone, but it almost is. At least I get it out. Dr. Sandlin says it’s important to get the stuff in my head out. It doesn’t erase it just makes it less pressure. I told Dr. Sandlin the journal is like a shunt in my brain and then I had to explain my injury. TBI, she called it. I guess it’s a doctor thing. Dr. Johnson insists, too. I’ve been hurt lots of times but that’s still ‘the injury’. Always will be. I’ve never told Sylvie that I was told to consider retiring. I never told Gabby. I never told anyone. I don’t know if I just don’t want to worry anyone or I’m worried no one would worry. Or that it would become a thing. Gabby might’ve convinced me to do it. Retire. She always could convince me to do anything. I spent our entire relationship knowing I wasn’t really good enough for her. Guys like me don’t get girls like Gabby. Or Hallie. Sure as fuck not girls like Sylvie. She’s the best person I’ve ever known. She makes me better. They all did. Hallie made me feel better, like I was worth something. Someone might pick me. Someone smart and gorgeous, like her, but she was busy and sometimes, people said she was lucky to have me because I was patient with her hours or whatever, and her having this great career, better than mine. I never got that. What guy wouldn’t love having a smart, accomplished, kick-ass girl? I was lucky that a girl like Hallie wanted anything to do with me. Hallie said it was just that I was built like a firefighter, whatever that means, so most women doctors apparently don’t date guys with muscles like mine. She said she was being shallow. I don’t think that’s true, I’m not particularly good-looking or particularly muscular, but she sometimes lied in the nicest ways. Gabby only lied by what she didn’t say. In all our time together, I don’t think anyone ever once told Gabby she was lucky to have me, though I heard it and knew it all the time, that I was a lucky bastard to get a girl that great. Not that she was lucky. Hallie wasn’t either. It was a nice lie. Gabby is still a bit of a sticking point for me and Sylvie. I hope Sylvie knows how much I love her. It’s not even on the same scale as the love I have for Gabby. I do still love her. I always will. But Sylvie is another universe. She gave me Jack. And the new little one. Too close together. My fault. She’s tired and the doctor put her on bedrest. It’s not actually in bed, but no work – not with our jobs – and no stress, she’s basically home-bound. I missed her appointment. I hate that I did. I think she knows the sex but won’t tell me. I know though. I was wrong about Jack, but this one, I’m certain. Nugget is a boy. We’ve got names, though. We took a while to settle on Jack’s first name, boy or girl. Maybe the second time is easier. A girl will be Charlotte after Chuck and Elizabeth after Sylvie. Charlotte Elizabeth Casey. Nugget is a boy, but I still like the name. Sylvie fell in love with Alexander at some point. It’s not a family name she just loves it. We fought about the middle. She wants James or Matthew, after me. There’s nothing wrong with either name, but I don’t think I like the idea of naming a kid after me. I hope they all take more after the other side. I’m going to win this one. His name is Alexander Brett Casey. Chuck is gonna be proud. I wonder if my dad would be. If he’d be proud of his grandsons. Not me. I know that. He never was. But Jack is perfect. Nugget will be. We’re still stuck on shortening Alexander, so for now, he’s Nugget. Plus, Sylvie keeps insisting it might not be a boy, but she has a glass face sometimes. She knows. Nugget is a boy.

* * *

Sylvie grinned at that entry. Well, the end of it. She had teared up a bit in the middle there and been a little angry about that whole not telling her he was told to retire thing, and she’d have to find a way to have words with him about that. She knew beneath the flush of irritation and frustration was sheer terror. Had he been going to work for years with something wrong? Some sort of ticking time bomb in his head? Why hadn’t she insisted on going with him to his neurologist’s appointments? She’d never directly asked him if there was any long-term implications or complications of his head injury. No one ever mentioned it. She was pretty sure some of the people at 51 had no idea it had ever occurred. She suspected Kelly would never bring it up because it scared him – a lot of Kelly’s worldview seemed hinged on the immortality of his friendship with Matt Casey. No matter what, those two had each other, to bitch at, complain about, compete with, argue with, bounce ideas off, and in the end, protect fiercely, because both of them loved the crap out of each other. At the end, though, yeah, he was right. She’d known, she’d broken down in a check-up and asked for the sex when Matt wasn’t in the room. She’d been hoping for a girl. She loved her son, to the moon and back five times over, but she wanted Matt to have his princess and she wanted a daughter, too. He was also right about the name. Dad was insanely proud that his second grandson had the family name, even if it was in the middle. He’d cried and laughed and done that sort of cheering like he was at a football game thing like when they told him he was gonna be a grandpa. They’d taken several weeks to figure out a short form of Alexander. Jack got the credit. Sylvie liked Xander. Matt hated it. He liked Alex. Jack couldn’t say the x, and it came out ‘A-ick.’ He was barely fifteen-months-old, so that was pretty good. But Sylvie had loved it immediately, Matt said he did, too. Alec. And so, Alec Casey it was. She was still disappointed to have lost out on the James or Matthew bit, just a little. Matt had beautiful names. She couldn’t be too disappointed to have Brett, her name, well, her family name, given to her son, though. Of course, half the time Matt just called their son ‘Nugget’, his prenatal nickname for the new baby, but that went well with ‘Peanut’ for Jack. God, she loved Matt. He was such an adorable fantastic daddy. Speaking of the devil, though, she heard him downstairs and she really didn’t want him to come upstairs looking for her and the boys (who were napping) and find her reading his therapy journal. She moved to meet him, wanting to show him that things were better now, and he could open up to her, he didn’t have to carry all the weight on his own anymore.

“Hey, you’re home a little early today.” She smiled broadly, Alec in her arms, as she met her husband in the living room. Jack had been holding her hand down the stairs, obediently taking his time as walking on stairs was a very new skill, until they got through the baby gate at the bottom and then he’d plastered himself to his daddy. He was now happily ensconced in his favorite place in the world, Matt’s arms.  
“Finished a little early.” Matt shrugged. “Thought I’d come home and see if my favorite helper wanted to make some lasagna with me.”  
“hep!” Jack crowed, bouncing in his perch.  
“Why don’t we make it a whole family affair? Alec and I can help, too.”  
“Alec is going to want his own dinner pretty soon.” Matt pointed out with a knowing smile.  
“Since no one here is going to object to him eating while you guys keep on cooking, I don’t see a problem. Unless you’ve developed a sudden new aversion to the sight of a bare breast?”  
“Not an aversion, no.” Matt’s smile wavered for a second, but was back just a split second later. “I think Jack might get jealous, though.”  
Sylvie had to admit it was a slight possibility. He had gone through a bit of a phase, since he wasn’t entirely weaned yet himself (the pediatrician said up until age 2, let him nurse as he wanted), but that hadn’t lasted very long, but was also not all that far over. Still, she wasn’t going to give up the chance to hang out with all three of her favorite males in one place.  
“I’ll risk it. I’ve missed watching you cook.”  
“Really?”  
“Mm-hmm. Competence is sexy, Matt.”  
“Really?” He looked almost hopeful at that, really just a hint of the expression she would’ve gotten for that statement months ago, but it still pleased her to see it. They could get back to normal again, it was just going to take some work.


	2. Flipping Switches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the formatting and organization makes it clear what timeline each section is in, whether it's Matt's journal or Sylvie's current thoughts or current action in the Casey household. To those hoping Casey #4 was going to be a girl, sorry to disappoint. Stories come to me as they come, and whatever muse was at work insisted that Nugget would be another boy.

She didn’t feel guilty, surprisingly, about reading his journal. Matt wasn’t a fan of secrets in a marriage anyway, but maybe that was a rationalization of her lack of guilt. If she asked him outright, before this, he’d probably have told her most of what he wrote. Now, she could tell that there was a distrust between them. Reading his journal probably would not help that. But she needed to know. Matt wasn’t talking. Matt wouldn’t talk. When she asked him what’s wrong, he just said ‘nothing’ or ‘it’s nothing big’ and shifted the subject quickly. She knew the distance had to do with her, that it was her fault, sort of, but she was frustrated by his apparent refusal to work on things with her, now that things were better. She was better. He just wanted to act like it was all perfectly fine, but it wasn’t. He didn’t talk to her now. Not like a petty junior-high-school girl refusal to speak, just that he didn’t say anything really important. He talked about work and the weather and how she was feeling and the boys, okay the boys are really important, but nothing about himself or his experiences. She wasn’t even sure where to start. Reading his own words, the words he wouldn’t say, would give her a place to start. Still, despite her reasoning and rationalizing, she felt like she should feel guilty for reading his journal. She never wanted to be one of those suspicious snooping wives who went through her husband’s phone or whatever. Not that she was doing that. She trusted Matt. It wasn’t what he was doing, or even had done, that worried her. It was what she had done, to their marriage, and to him. Not that she meant to do it. She would never mean to hurt him. She just knew that she had. She wished her memory was better. The weeks after Alec’s birth were a haze, exhaustion and everything else leaving her with general sentiments but no clear memories of the last few months. Matt was working a lot of hours, so she had plenty of time to read when the boys were down for naps, and she hoped it might only take a couple days to work her way through not just his words but her immediate reaction to his words. Then, when she’d processed, she could talk to Matt. She nodded to herself, determined that she would not say anything to him until she’d had time to really mull over whatever he wrote.

* * *

Sylvie’s on her fourth week of "bedrest". I sleep in the guest room now, the last couple weeks. Haven’t written much, don’t need to, always finding plenty to talk to Dr. Sandlin about without journal writing. Sylvie’s not herself. Cabin fever maybe. She’s moody. Hormones I guess, maybe, with the cabin fever. Whatever it is, it sucks to live with. I can shower, go straight to her, and I smell disgusting she says. It’s not sweat. It’s me. I take up too much space. I snore. I don’t, she says I do, but I know I don’t after years of sleeping in the firehouse – and trust me, the guys would let me know even if I am an officer. She does, she just blames me. Not when she’s not pregnant. But she’s really pregnant. Due in August but she looks farther along this time than she did with Jack. I’m not arguing with my pregnant wife who is stir-crazy from bedrest. Besides, there are a lot worse things to be accused of than snoring and taking up the entire bed. So I sleep down the hall, like I did after Jack was born. She yelled when I went to move my clothes there, apparently I’m not supposed to move out, just sleep elsewhere. Again, not arguing with a pregnant wife. Yesterday she screamed at me for not being fat and ugly like her. There is no response to that a man can make, it turns out. I told her she was beautiful and pregnant, which is not fat, and she could never be ugly. Sounded good to me. Things often sound alright in my head and then aren’t. I always say the wrong thing. I don’t know why it was wrong. I rarely do. I shower in the hall bath now, so I don’t piss her off by having abs. Pregnant wives are great. She is, of course, the greatest gift in my life, right up there with Peanut and Nugget. She’s also incredibly sexy, but I think she’d cut my balls off if I told her how turned on I get seeing her visibly pregnant. As stupid as I am with words, even I know that there is never a good way to tell your uncomfortably pregnant wife that you’ve seen what a baby does to her and it makes you want to fuck her until you’re both dizzy and keep her full of your kids forever. Does that make me some sort of sexist caveman? I love her. I respect her. I’m not actually imagining it would ever happen. There’s just something so fucking hot about her being pregnant. It’s her. I don’t see random pregnant women and think she’s hot or I want to fuck her, it’s just Sylvie, pregnant with my kid, and just writing about it I’m getting hard. She refuses to let me take pictures. Am I a shitty husband for wanting that? Not that I will ever forget but still. Then again, pictures can end up in places no one wants them – I know that better than most – and I’d probably end up using them to jack off, which is pretty shitty. I shouldn’t objectify her like that. I wonder what in nature makes a guy find a pregnant woman sexy as hell while a pregnant woman finds a guy disgusting. What purpose does that serve? If she’s going to be repulsed by me, couldn’t I find her less than mind-blowingly attractive?

* * *

Sylvie found herself smiling as she read that entry. Leave it to Matt to worry about finding her sexy. She hadn’t felt sexy, at all, she’d felt like a beached whale with acne breakouts to boot, and she did actually remember quite clearly being so frustrated that he didn’t have to get fat and ugly to have a baby. All he had to do was put his dick inside her and his work was done. He enjoyed his part of it. Sylvie had enjoyed that part, too, actually, but not the rest of it. She kind of wished she’d let him take those pictures, though. Knowing he’d masturbate to pictures of her actually turned her on. They had internet. He could have all the porn he wanted, at his fingertips, and he wanted pictures of her, heavily pregnant, rather than the like thousands of much hotter, much sexier women on those websites. He was so endearing. She didn’t feel objectified. She felt loved and desired. She wondered if he was still interested in a little photo shoot. Not that she had any plans to be pregnant again. Ever. They were done. Two boys. If he’d wanted a princess so badly, he should’ve had a conversation with his testicles, because it was his fault that they had two boys. They weren’t even having sex again yet, and she’d had an IUD put in at her last appointment because when they did have sex again, she didn’t want any more broken condoms causing problems. And she was pretty certain that the whole ‘riding him like a mechanical bull at a country bar’ was not something she was going to stop doing. She might have found him disgusting before, but that was definitely not the feelings she got when she looked at him now. She should probably tell him that. It was like a switch had flipped in her mind about a week ago – suddenly, her husband was fucking sexy again. That was something to wait for when he got home though. For now, she kept reading.

* * *

Week 6 of "bedrest". Jack’s first birthday. Sylvie got permission to come to the party, but she had to sit for most of the party. There was no way to have it at the house and not stress Sylvie out with cleaning and preparing and clean up after. We had it at Herrmann’s. Cindy ran it. Cindy is a godsend. Always. But especially now. Ice cream theme party. Yes, themes for a one year old. I didn’t think parties were a big deal for a baby who doesn’t know what’s really going on. Pregnant wife told me it is a massive deal. So ice cream party it was. Chuck and Cathy came. So did everyone, Leo and Allison even made it up. I bet twenty bucks they have an announcement soon, the way Allison was obsessing over the babies. They’re young, sort of, maybe being a parent in your twenties just seems young to someone like me, who waited until he was forty to get his shit together enough to have a family. Mom came. She brought her husband. He’s still an asshole. She says he’s great to her, but I hear the way he talks to people, her included. I hope she’s telling the truth. She’s my mother I can’t do anything. She gets mad at me for being rude. She never hears him, I guess. He knows it bothers me and he does shit like call me ‘Greg’ under his breath. I loved my dad, no matter the rest. I loved him. I don’t want to be him or like him. What kind of a shitty person does that to someone though? Picks at the oldest deepest wounds just for the sake of picking? Would anyone want that guy for their mom’s husband? I’m way too old for a stepfather. If I wonder what to do with Jack, I ask myself ‘what would Chuck do’ not ‘what would Dad do’. I told Chuck that on Father’s Day. They came up and stayed through Jack’s birthday. Chuck said he was proud but he cried. I hope he wasn’t hurt or offended, probably doesn’t want to claim me for a son. Who would? Maybe it’s just weird for a father-in-law to hear. Sev gave Jack ice cream at the party. We put off the dairy thing because you’re supposed to, but Jack loves ice cream it turns out. No tummy issues we noticed. Sev is the proudest godfather ever. Jack loves him. Will it be less special if I ask him to be Nugget’s godfather, too? Has to be a Catholic. Stella is very nominally Catholic at least. Godmother. Also about to be Sev’s fiancée. He finally bought a ring. She’s gonna say yes. He’s still terrified. Been there. Seven times. Fuck, what a loser, huh? Seven times. Weirdly, I got a ‘yes’ most of those times – just the once when Gabby turned me down. Women wonder why guys put it off, but until you’ve heard that ‘no, I’d rather not commit to you’ said out loud, you can’t get the sheer terror of it. I’m happy for him, though. He hasn’t always had the best luck, and he deserves a great girl like Stella.

* * *

Sylvie smiled a little more wetly at this entry. Jack’s first birthday party had been fantastic, and she had way too many photos of everyone. There was even a super cute one of Matt, Jack, and Nancy that Sylvie really loved and had sent to her mother-in-law. Nancy had at least sent a thank you for that, which was better than the no response she usually got, so she figured Nancy must really like it, too. She hadn’t known about the latest friction with Randy, but it didn’t surprise her. The man really was just an asshole. And she too suspected that Leo and Allison were trying for a baby or would be soon. Dad was going to be so ecstatic, to see the Brett name carried on. Of course he adored Sylvie’s boys, but Leo’s kids would be raised on the farm, would carry on those traditions and the family name. Sylvie’s boys were Caseys. She didn’t know Kelly had bought a ring. He hadn’t proposed yet, and that entry was written months ago. What was he waiting for? She wondered if there was a subtle way to ask Matt, without giving away what she’d read. She also wondered if there was an even remotely subtle way to edit the photos of her at the birthday party into a little surprise for him. She hadn’t exactly been dressed in anything sexy, but she was at least very visibly pregnant and in a couple of the photos her boobs had been practically falling out of her shirt (they got even bigger with Alec than with Jack). She’d been embarrassed at the time, had refused to show them to anyone, even Matt, but now, she couldn’t help thinking Matt might really appreciate those, and the thought didn’t bother her at all. In fact, it kind of turned her on thinking just how he might enjoy them. Definitely flipped a switch lately. She glanced at the clock, and realized it was time to get the boys up (or in Jack’s case, end ‘quiet time’ since he didn’t sleep as long or as often as his brother but played quietly once he woke) and start making dinner.

She was in the middle of making taco cups for dinner – basically tacos but in cupcake size which Jack found easier to handle, though he still made a mess – when Matt got home. She paused what she was doing, because she didn’t think she would ever get over watching Matt react to Jack racing for him the minute he realized his daddy was home. How he continued to look so pleased by a daily occurrence Sylvie didn’t really understand, but she loved that look on his face, like he was the happiest human on the planet.

“Daddy!” Jack’s cry was the same every day, and so was the way he careened towards Matt, arms out and knowing that his daddy was going to sweep him up into his arms for an enthusiastic hug like the two of them had been parted for months, at least days, instead of hours.

“Jack!” Matt played his part perfectly, and only after Jack had had his fill of hugs for the moment did Matt pull back enough to meet Jack’s eyes. “Did you have a good day, Peanut?”  
“Yay! Uncelly go par!”  
“Uncle Kelly took you to the park? That sounds pretty fun.”  
“Jus me, no Ack. No ba-ees.”

“Just the big boys, huh?”  
“Uncelly geh-me eyeskeem.”   
“Uncle Kelly bought you ice cream as well?” Matt laughed lightly. “No wonder you love days out with Uncle Kelly.”  
“Cime wah too.”  
“You climbed the wall, too? Did you get all the way to the top?”  
“Tibby-tobby!” Jack proclaimed loudly. Matt laughed again, hugging Jack to his chest again.

“That’s awesome, Peanut. Maybe next time Daddy won’t have work and can go with you and Uncle Kelly, huh? Though we might have to bring Alec, have a real boys’ day. That way Mommy can go to the spa with Aunt Christie and Violet. What do you think?”  
“Yay! Daddy go par!”  
“If he doesn’t eat much dinner, blame Uncle Kelly.” Sylvie pointed out, but she was smiling. She couldn’t help smiling when her boys were so happy. “They were gone for a good two hours, apparently they did a lot of swinging and wall climbing.”  
“An eyeskeem!”  
“And eating ice cream, of course, can’t forget the ice cream.” Sylvie added at Jack’s prompting, shrugging a little in Matt’s direction. “He took a good nap though, Uncle Kelly wore him out.”  
“No Aunt Stella, or did she hang out here with you?”  
“She was busy, Kelly said. Alec and I hung out here together.”  
“Yeah?” Matt glanced at her, then turned to where Alec was ensconced in his baby swing. Like his brother had, Alec loved the thing, which Sylvie loved because it kept him entertained or at least content, while she dealt with Jack and things like dinner. With his free hand, Matt gently cupped his son's head. “You have a good day, too, Alec? Lots of good sleep, my growing boy?”  
“He really is getting bigger.” Sylvie agreed. He’d been a little slow to start, slower than Jack anyway, but was finally gaining weight. “I think it may be time to move up to a size 1 diaper.”  
“I never thought I’d be happy to talk about diaper sizes.” Matt grinned at her. “When’s his appointment again?”  
“Monday.” Sylvie reminded patiently. She knew Matt was stressed and tired, and overworked, and probably a lot of an emotional mess right now, so forgetting Alec’s appointment was not that big of a deal, though it was a good thing _she_ took the time to remember. “Dr. Washington wanted to wait until he was two months from his due date for the vaccinations, get his weight up just a bit. He’s big enough now, so we’re good to go.”  
“Ah, that’s right, I took Monday afternoon off the Tillison project to go with you - or keep Jack here, if you'd rather I do that. Good job, Nugget, getting so big. You just keep concentrating on growing. And sleeping. You and your momma need lots of good sleep.”  
“Jack geh big too!” Jack declared firmly.

“You are getting bigger, too, yep. Gonna be too big for me to carry around like this soon, huh?”  
“Daddy no up?”  
“You’re gonna get too big.” Matt kept his voice reasonable, like he was completely serious.  
“No! Jack ne’er too big to up. Daddy swong!”

“He’s not wrong.” Sylvie laughed as she put the finishing touches on dinner. “I’ve seen you haul fully grown men out of fires, Daddy – it’s going to be a lot of years before our boys are too big for you to carry around.”  
“Daddy swongest e’er!”  
“Not nearly that, Jack, not nearly.” Matt corrected gently. “But I think we’ve got a little while yet before there’s no more ups for Jack. Now, it looks like Mommy has dinner ready. Time to wash our hands, right?”  
“Wah hans! Hungee!”  
“That’s right, you have to wash your hands before any of my boys eat dinner.” Sylvie agreed. She leaned over to kiss Matt softly, not surprised but still a little stung that he pulled back, a shocked look on his face.

“Sylvie?”  
“Never mind then.”

“No, I was just…surprised.” Matt shook his head. “I’m sorry. I let myself get out of the habit of…no excuses. How was your day, Mommy?”  
“Good. I had a nice nap while Alec napped, and Uncle Kelly and Jack went to the park. I invited Kelly to stay for dinner, but whatever Stella was doing earlier apparently was over because he said they had plans.”  
“I’m glad to hear it. You need sleep and recovery, too.”  
“Hungee!” Jack reminded.  
“Alright, let’s go wash hands.” Matt laughed lightly. “Thanks for making dinner, I’m completely beat and it smells fantastic in here. Be right back with this one.”  
“Welcome home, Matt.” Sylvie asked with her eyes, and he smiled at her with a small nod. She kissed him swiftly, and then he was off to the downstairs bathroom to wash hands. It wasn't much of a kiss, really. Swift, perfunctory even, but while it might be a tiny step, it felt like a fantastic step, too.


	3. Welcome Home Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be Thursday probably before I update again - just kind of busy with work stuff over the next couple days, but if I waited until I could for sure post a new chapter every day, this thing would never get posted! Hope you all don't mind the slight delays in new chapters.

She laid on the bed in the guestroom to read the next afternoon. Jack had taken a while to quiet for his nap, and she was tired. As much as she did not feel guilty about reading this, because she wouldn’t have to read if her husband would just talk to her like a normal human being, she did not want to take it out of this room. Somehow taking it to the master bedroom felt like an invasion, whether of the master bedroom or of his privacy she couldn’t quite figure it out. Besides, the pillows in here smelled like Matt now, and that was nice. She missed smelling him in the bed. Of course his usual pillows smelled like him, too, but not as strongly as these, perhaps because she hadn’t yet changed the sheets in here so he’d slept on these for the last several nights, and on these pillows for the last few months. She breathed deep, and something about reading his journal and his smell combined, and she could hear his words in his voice, as if he was talking to her, or at least, to Dr. Sandlin during an appointment that she attended.

* * *

Week 9 of bedrest. Sylvie hates me. She tells me twice a day at least. Sometimes she’s joking. I’m glad I’m sleeping in the guest room. She threatens to cut my dick and balls off pretty regularly. Sometimes she’s joking. She’s great with Jack, no matter how grumpy she is, she has endless patience for him. I love her, and I see him in bed with her for a shared nap or just a story, a cuddle, anything, and I’m beyond sense for them. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for either of them, and to keep them safe together, I would do unimaginable things. It’s weird how the most heart-warming sight can make me a little murderous. The thought of anything hurting them and I feel this need to break something, to hurt something, just like a warning to whatever might try to hurt them. It’s stupid and irrational but I feel it. It’s just this overwhelming need to protect and defend. Not that there is anything in the bedroom to defend them from. I miss joining the cuddle times, but the bed is not big enough for all of us. Physically it is. Sylvie disagrees. She mostly wants me distanced. Like 10 feet away at all times. I smell. Colognes, she hates all of them. Soaps, she hates all of them. Me without either, she hates that smell too. She has a lot to say when I’m in the room. I know it’s the hormones and not really her, but she said she hated me and meant it at that moment. Her voice saying that hurt. I worry. What if whatever magic made her think I’m not a complete dumpster fire of a person never comes back? What if she leaves? Gabby leaving ripped me to shreds. I’d wound myself up in her so tightly that when she left, she tore big parts of me out, or at least loose. Sylvie and my boys leaving, I’d be gutted alive. And eaten by buzzards while still conscious. I’m terrified of it. Dr. Sandlin says it’s normal to be scared, given my personal history. That’s not fair to Sylvie though. She’s not Gabby. She’s not going to leave me. I know that, intellectually, but in quiet times, especially at night, I can’t turn off my fears and it keeps me awake. I know it’s just the hormones and cabin fever though that make her so grumpy. She can’t take it out on anyone but me. I can do this for her, I can be that foundation she needs, the safe place she can vent and get it all out without judgment or consequences. She can just let everything go. It sucks, but I’ve gotten through sucks before. I know it’s nothing, compared to what she’s going through to bring our baby into the world, but still, due date cannot get here fast enough for me. Or her. She’s very tired of being pregnant. She says that even more often than she says she hates me or wants to cut my balls off. It actually helps – a regular reminder than it’s the being pregnant, not me, that she really hates right now.

* * *

Sylvie winced, reading over that. She had said that to Matt, she remembered saying it, a lot more than once. Of course she’d never really meant it, which clearly he knew. She loved Matt. She just hated that he wasn’t pregnant and uncomfortable and forced off work into frustrating idleness. He was still handsome as sin and fit as a fiddle. She also remembered hating the smell of him. Now, surrounded by his smell in this bed, she found it hard to imagine hating the smell, but she knew she had, she remembered she had, she just couldn’t bring up the same feeling. Not that she really wanted to. She actually felt less badly about that than she did about something else he’d written about – that she’d explicitly excluded him from things like bedtime stories. He’d stood at the door, and he’d taken Jack from her to put him in his own bed, but Matt had not read stories to Jack in months now. It had been the most adorable little bedtime tradition, story-time with Daddy before the big sleep, and she’d murdered it. Well, the good thing about Jack only being seventeen months old was that they could shift his routine again, bring back that tradition. That was an easy fix. She worried that reassuring Matt of the security of his place in her life was going to be a bigger ask. Oh, he wrote that he knew she wasn’t Gabby, and she wouldn’t leave, but there had been obvious pain in his words, and a pretty graphic description of the amount of pain he’d both been in before and anticipated being in again. What sort of torture must it be to feel like any minute your whole life could be taken away from you, everything you cherish gone, at the whim of another person? How could he say he trusted her when he had that fear and anxiety every day? More importantly, what could she do to start over again with proving to him that she was never going anywhere? She turned back to the journal, determined to find out all the things he’d poured out in writing that he hadn’t felt able to tell anyone.

* * *

Week 12 of bedrest. Fourth of July. Had a scare, Sylvie started labor, but they managed to stop the labor or something. Nugget is too little still. 33 weeks, according to the doctors. I’ve counted it. 31 weeks since that condom broke, but the doctors insist he’s 33 weeks. How he can exist for two weeks before the sperm and egg meet, I have no idea. Sylvie says it’s just how pregnancy is counted. That never would have worked with my math teachers. You’d think medicine would’ve figured out something so blatantly unscientific and illogical. So, either way, he’s 7 weeks too early. He’d most likely survive but might have lifelong complications, and a long stay in the NICU. Best to keep him in the oven and cooking a bit longer. They gave her meds to do stuff like relax her uterus (I did not know that it could be tense, but then I don’t have one, and I guess that’s exactly what contractions are). Strict bedrest. No stress at all. Bedrest creates stress. Great cycle. Something has Jack upset. He’s sleeping with me more nights than not. I should tell Sylvie. I don’t. She won’t be mad at him, just me, so no problem there. If she gets him to stop, I lose my ‘cuddle bug’. I think Cindy nicknamed him that, he calls himself that, well, he can’t really say it right, he tries, but I can tell. I’m very tactile. I like cuddling with him. He sleeps on my chest a lot, just like when he was tiny. He’s gotten clingier. I worry about him. Am I not paying enough attention to him? Is it all the changes? Is it just a normal stage? Am I screwing up my kid? Is he unhappy? Is he sick? Am I doing the wrong things? Not enough things? Am I coddling him too much or trying to make him independent too fast? Fatherhood is the best walking nightmare. I love him. I love being a dad. He also gives me more waking and sleeping nightmares about all the things that can go wrong. My heart is walking around outside my body, in another body that is so small and easily hurt and it terrifies the shit out of me. Two of them soon. Maybe too soon. Can I afford a NICU stay if Nugget is early? Will the Herrmanns really want to keep Jack all those hours if Sylvie’s stuck in the hospital very long and I have to work because it’s a lot of house – even with the annuity coming up in August – and there’s both our retirements to prep for, and two college tuition bills, plus private school, and I can make up Sylvie being off work for a long time, if I just work more, but we cannot afford any cut in my pay. I should talk to Sylvie about that. Will she be okay with Catholic school? I went, well, elementary. It wasn’t all mean nuns and stuff. It was reassuring. Familiar. Consistent. And there was Sister Domitia. I still remember her, next to me in the pew each Sunday and the librarian in school, too, she was the one who insisted I had a good voice and should sing. I’m almost alright, but everyone said it was good before puberty – my dad was not impressed by his ‘boy soprano’ son. She told me God made me what I am and it was my duty to use his gifts. I think I do. I don’t have a lot of gifts, but those I have, I use. Mostly, she was always happy to see me on Sunday mornings, and I wasn’t the sort of kid people were usually happy to see. I want my boys to have those people in their lives, though I guess there’s less nuns around now just in general. The good news is Sylvie’s labor stopped, and they did an ultrasound to check on Nugget. I’m not any kind of doctor or tech, but even I could tell that Nugget is a boy. Spread little thighs and a very distinctive bit of anatomy between them. Sylvie made a joke about all the Casey men and their ‘man-spreading,’ and then she got a little off-color about the size of a Casey manhood. It was a little embarrassing, but also funny, and kind of nice – she wasn’t threatening to cut it off, which is about the only consideration my dick has gotten from her in months. I’ll take the jokes.

* * *

Sylvie remembered how scared she had been that day. She’d recognized the signs of labor right away. With Jack, it had been almost welcome, though a little scary because it was all new and Matt was at work and it was just overwhelming. This time, it had been too early and she knew it. She knew the risks for a baby 7 weeks early, and while most babies survived at that age, there were lots of complications and problems. When the meds stopped the labor, she’d been so relieved that nothing else seemed to matter, as long as she did her job and kept him inside for as long as possible. She’d felt like she was failing the baby, herself, Matt, Jack, everyone, if she didn’t keep the baby safe.

She hadn’t realized Matt was thinking seriously about Catholic school for the boys. It made sense. There was a CPS school just a block away from the house but it was a magnet Montessori school, so they weren’t guaranteed to get in even living that close, and she wasn’t sure Matt would be a fan of Montessori anyway – he liked rules and regimen, really – and the next closest school was the school affiliated with his parish. She had attended with him from time to time, though, and she wasn’t sure she agreed with some of what was preached in the homilies. It tended to conservativism, even for Catholics, but maybe the school was less that way. It was worth looking into, if he felt strongly about it, and she wasn’t at all opposed to faith being in school, plus, the parish community was nicely diverse so the school probably was to: she didn’t like the idea of the private schools that were basically a way to shield kids from the diversity and realities of life in a city as thriving, international, and sometimes troubled as Chicago. It also felt a bit like letting Matt stay connected to part of where he came from, given he had so little family, and no traditions for holidays or anything – those were all Brett traditions, or ones they were making up for their own family.

She also remembered that ultrasound, and Matt laughing in the middle of it. It had been shocking, hearing him chuckling, given everything that was going on, but then he’d pointed to the screen and said “I’m just a firefighter, but even I can tell that’s my son, not my daughter.” It had been pretty obvious, though Sylvie hadn’t noticed until then because she’d been too busy willing her body to cooperate and keep their baby on the inside for just a few weeks longer. Every week mattered in pregnancy. She had been relieved, though, because hearing Matt chuckle had helped her relax. If worry-wort Matt Casey had managed to find some levity, well, it must not be so dire as she’d thought. And she hadn’t been wrong in that joke, though it had made him blush wonderfully. Matt did tend to ‘man-spread’ when he sat, and she’d just wanted to tease him a little. The nurses had all thankfully laughed, not been offended, when she’d commented about her having to excuse her husband for spreading his legs, he was carrying a weapon between them after all. He was, though she remained just a little baffled about how it looked just a bit above-average soft, then grew like it did. She hadn’t had Matt line up and compare while soft, but she didn’t think it looked much bigger than average anyway. She wondered if he’d let her measure. She was curious. He’d probably measured himself, come to think of it. Guys did stuff like that, right? They measured? She heard soft steps in the hall, then a plaintive “Mommy?” Jack was looking for her. She put Matt’s journal back on the desk and stepped out into the hall.

Jack, it turned out, was not having a good afternoon. He had an upset little tummy, and Sylvie was a bit overwhelmed trying to balance his needs with Alec’s. This was exactly what she’d feared when they’d had two babies so close together: how could she take care of Jack, who was pretty much still a baby himself, while also taking care of a newer baby? She was sure she’d been happier to hear Matt come home than she was right now, but she just couldn’t think of when.

“Daddy.” Jack practically whimpered, reaching out from her arms to Matt. It wasn’t quite his usual running to greet Daddy at the door, but Matt looked just about as melted now as he ever had.   
“Oh, Peanut, come here.” Matt folded Jack into his arms.

“He has an upset tummy – both directions. Can you take him, I need to go see what Alec needs.” Alec had in fact been crying for a few minutes now, but she’d been focused on Jack.

“Of course. I’ve got him.” Matt nodded. “Jack, are you not feeling very good?”  
“Icky.”  
“You feel icky? I’m sorry, Peanut.” She heard, as she headed out of the kitchen towards the two-month-old in the other room. She took a moment to be grateful not to be single-momming it, that at least she had help on evenings like this.

Alec, it turned out, was just hungry off his cycle, or maybe his cycle was changing. Fed and in a dry diaper, he was happy as a clam again. She carried him back downstairs, realizing Jack should have dinner, or at least be offered dinner, even if he could only have very bland food. She wasn’t surprised to find Matt in the kitchen, Jack on his hip, cooking dinner for both them and his son. She had won the lottery with this man, she knew that. She put Alec down in his swing.

“Thank you for starting dinner, sorry I didn’t have it ready when you got home-“  
“I think dealing with two babies, one of them sick, is more than enough reason to be a little late with dinner.” Matt reassured her with a smile. “I don’t expect you to have my dinner waiting for me the second I get in – you’re my wife, the mother of my children, not my chef.”  
“We have a chef?” Sylvie asked, teasing him a little. “Why haven’t I met him? It better be a him, I don’t want any other women around my handsome husband.”

“Tonight, your husband **_is_** the chef.” Matt chuckled. “It’s not much.”  
“Let me take Jack while you cook.” She reached out, but Jack whined loudly and visibly clung tighter to Matt.

“Daddy.”

“Jack, you can go to Mommy.” Matt looked apologetic, as Jack shook his head so hard it shook his whole body and whined into Matt’s shoulder what sounded like a definite ‘no’. “He’s just cranky, Syl.”  
“I’m not upset, Matt.” She reassured him. “But since he’s ensconced there, can I take over dinner?”  
“Ah, how about we tackle it together? I was trying to figure out how to cut the chicken apart without putting him down. The rest I can managed one-handed. Though you should probably run the cooktop as well, just to keep someone’s little toes far away from any heating element.”  
“I’ll start with the chicken then.” Sylvie agreed, sliding in next to him. She stood on tiptoe for a moment, kissing his lips softly. “Sorry I didn’t give you any sort of welcome home.”  
“I don’t know.” Matt smiled, very genuinely. “A kiss from my wife, my son in my arms, and dinner cooking – that’s a pretty nice homecoming in my opinion.” He paused. “I’ve missed the welcome home kiss.”  
“I know. I’m-“  
“Don’t apologize. It’s getting better. Back to normal. That’s all that matters. Two nights in a row. I could get used to this.”  
“You better get used to it.” Sylvie tried to sound firm. “Though we have shift tomorrow, so that changes up the whole routine.”  
“Doesn’t mean you can’t kiss me when we get home after shift.”  
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” She kissed him again, softly and quickly. “Maybe I’ll even kiss you each time you come back to the house after a call – just to make sure I’m catching up on all the missed welcome home kisses.”  
“I like that plan.” Matt smiled broadly. “Chief might not, though. Neither will you if I come back smelling like burnt ceiling tiles or something.”


	4. No Thanks Necessary

She settled in, two days later, by this point unabashedly reading Matt’s journal. She wondered if this counted as any sort of communication between spouses. Probably not. They should talk. They would talk, about the serious topics, not just their daily lives. But she wanted to be prepared before she opened a can of worms, or maybe those snakes that are springs and pop out at you. This was probably more like that than like worms. Matt had shoved everything down and nailed down the lid and if you pried the lid off, things would kind of explode out. She didn’t want to be surprised or at least not completely surprised. She also just honestly enjoyed a completely unfiltered glimpse into her husband’s mind. He kept himself to himself in a lot of ways. He didn’t keep secrets, per se, but he also wasn’t much of one to spontaneously share old memories or really anything that he thought might upset her and she didn’t need to know. Seeing his running stream of thoughts was new and fascinating and intimate.

* * *

Week 14 of bedrest. Sylvie is impossible to live with. I love her, so much, but she makes me insane. Bedrest has made her insane and she’s sharing. I know I’m overprotective and I’m stifling her, but I can’t take over taking care of Nugget right now, I can’t take any of the pressure off her, I wish I could, and I hate that she’s miserable, but it’s not my fault. I wish she’d remember that. I guess it’s both of our faults, I wasn’t alone in breaking that condom. Nugget is still the best birthday gift ever. I can’t wait to meet him. That’s normal, but also, once he’s here, maybe my wife will come back from the pod. She’s not moody. She says ‘I know I’m moody’ but she isn’t moody. Moody implies changes in mood. She is just frustrated and angry and uncomfortable, more every day, and she’s practically angelic with Jack, which just makes me love her more. I have the best wife in the world, I know that. She is the most amazing and perfect mother. No matter how awful she feels, she is patient and warm and just perfect with him. I’m just ready to be over this phase where I am at fault for every single thing. That’s the selfish part. I’m also ready for her to feel better for her own sake, not just mine, of course. One good thing has come out of this though. I hope we continue bedtime reading in our bed. Maybe she remembers what I said about Hallie, but I love it. She’s reading to me most nights. I’m not allowed to sleep in the master bedroom, my place has been taken by a pregnancy body pillow, but it’s nice. It’s not bedtime stories for Jack, just her sharing what she is reading. I think one of her spin class girls recommended this whole series of books. Not the books I’d have picked, but better than I expected. Though a guy does feel a bit inadequate listening to these stories about the like six-and-a-half-foot-tall Scottish warrior who is perfect. I’m sure Sylvie would prefer Jamie Fraser to Matt Casey. Luckily for me, he’s fictional. It’s easier to be forty-odd and have perfect abs if you’re fictional. She says we can watch the tv series on Netflix after I’ve heard all the books. It’s nice to be planning something for the future for us. It’s a little thing I know, but just like a couple thing we can do, it isn’t about the boys, just us.

* * *

They hadn’t actually gotten around to watching that show yet. Sylvie had seen parts of it, the first season anyway, but had missed episodes accidentally and then had missed the last couple kind of intentionally. She’d read the books and wasn’t very sure she really wanted to watch those episodes. She knew they’d be beautifully made, but the content was just too heavy. She was strange, from what she’d seen online, in that she liked the bits of the books that were mostly just daily life. She wanted to get back to normal daily life herself, without the drama and the crises of major events. Just boring old comfortable daily life with her husband and her boys, that was all she wanted. Sylvie also realized she’d stopped reading to Matt, not that long after he wrote this. Once Alec was born, she’d stopped. She hadn’t read any farther in the ninth book herself, she just had sort of put it down and gotten too busy. That was something she could bring up with Matt, doing that again. She had enjoyed it, enjoyed sharing something she liked with someone she loved, and it would serve the perfect excuse to get him cuddling up with her again. She kept reading, hoping to find other reminders or ideas of things to do to help reach out to Matt – things that didn’t make it obvious she’d been reading his journal or something. It also wouldn’t come across odd or maybe patronizing, like if she suddenly said she wanted to watch hockey with him (she still didn’t like sports very much, and Matt knew it).

* * *

July 30. Nugget arrived last night. He’s still two weeks early. He’s in the NICU. His lungs are struggling, still developing. We knew he was smaller than Jack, who was also early. Nugget is 4 lbs. 12 oz. Dr. Nguyen induced labor, said he was as cooked as he was going to get. Sylvie’s preeclampsia had her blood pressure dangerously high. She’s still in the hospital. Sent me home, to spend the night with Jack, so he has some normalcy, I guess. Sylvie being home the last few months means he hasn’t been over night at the Herrmanns in months, so he’s gotten used to being in his own room at night. She was worried he’d fuss if Cindy took him with no notice. I’m not sure what kind of notice you give a fourteen-month-old kid. Still, something about having Nugget in the NICU made me grateful to hug Peanut last night. He slept with me, and not because he was upset. I just needed to feel his steady breathing and his constant heartbeat and the warmth of his body on my chest. Sylvie keeps calling the baby Xander. I think she can tell I hate it, but I haven’t said so, yet. She’s just given birth. Not really a time to argue with a woman. I do hate it. It sounds pretentious like some snotty rich jerk from Violet’s stupidly expensive school (which is a great school but some of the kids wouldn’t know real life problems if they got smacked in the head with one). Anyway, he’s still Nugget for now, I’m refusing to use Xander. I hope she’s not mentally spelling that Zander. Aside from the lungs, Nugget is perfect. No idea how I had a thing to do with making either of these perfect boys. Jack looks more like Sylvie every day, good thing, hope he gets all his genes from her. Chuck and Cathy are asleep downstairs. They came as soon as I called to say we were inducing. I tried to be reassuring, but I’m not sure I pulled it off. They seemed scared and stressed. Then again, I’m stressed and scared, too. I’m trying to hide it, stay strong for everyone else, but I’ve never been very good at being strong. Mom didn’t even pick up the phone. I left a voicemail. She isn’t speaking to me again. She wanted to keep Jack while we were in the hospital. Cathy was still in Indiana and Cindy was at her sister’s house, I think in Iowa or something. Herrmann said but I can’t remember, may not have even really heard it. I told her she could, if she came alone and stayed at ours. Kelly ended up picking him up at the hospital, so Sylvie could see him for a bit before heading back to the NICU, and then he kept Jack while I stayed with her. I’m too old for it to hurt so much. It still rips me up when she says I’m selfish and cruel and mean and ungrateful. I know I am. I just childishly wish I wasn’t such a shit son. Can’t seem to fix it, though, without messing up another role in my life. I’m trying to be a good father and a decent husband, before anything else. I can live with being a bad son and a bad brother if I can get those two other bits right. Dr. Sandlin and I talk about it a lot. She says I was programmed as a kid to think I’m bad because I was told I was too often when I was a kid. Something like that anyway. I work really hard on never saying anything like that to my family. Always speak with kindness. I’m proud of myself for that. Some family history should never be repeated. I don’t want Jack or Nugget to ever wonder what’s wrong with them. They’re perfect. They’re not like me. They never will be.

* * *

Not for the first time since knowing and loving Matt Casey, Sylvie found herself wanting to cry and strangle someone at the exact same time. She was always torn between wanting Nancy to change and fix her relationship with her son, and just wanting the woman to get out of their lives entirely. She could admit that Matt’s semi-aggressive dislike of his stepfather was part of the problem, but the roots of Matt’s messed-up relationship with his mother ran deeper and older than that. Sylvie had never said anything to Matt, but she found something creepy about the way Nancy interacted with Matt, something possessive and manipulative, with a touch of desperation and determination to act like Matt was still the boy she’d once known. Sylvie knew Matt felt deeply unworthy of practically anything and everything, mostly just sort of mundane, nothing special in any way, the sort of person who blended into the background in every scene. He couldn’t see the things that made him special, made him spectacular.

At the same time, she felt a swell of intense love for her husband as well, because there was nothing more attractive in a man than being a good daddy, and Matt was both naturally that and very determined to do everything ‘right’. He was so fantastic with Jack, who blatantly thought his daddy was the greatest thing ever, and Alec was still too little for it to be too obvious, she knew Alec would be just the same. Was there a way to express to Matt how much she hoped their sons were like him? That she would be damn proud if the boys turned out to be the same kind of man he was – honest, good, kind, and noble? They could do without the fearless streak if she had her way, and definitely dodge the magnet for trouble that seemed to be in Matt’s genetic code. She loved Matt, admired his selfless and brave work as a firefighter, but the idea of her boys following in his footsteps, running into fires and other dangers, it scared her. They could be honest, good, kind, noble accountants, or something safe like that.

She had known, of course, that Matt had been the one to call her parents, and that he’d be upset if she tried to thank him for that. Matt had a long list of things that he considered just his duty and being thanked for doing what he was supposed to do bothered him. Having Mom and Dad there for a few days had made everything easier, and somehow less scary. Plus, she’d known it meant Matt was getting some sort of break, between watching Jack and taking care of the household duties like laundry and things that she hadn’t been able to do, and coming to sit with her and Alec. Matt hadn’t mentioned it in his journal, but it had also been him who told everyone at 51 what was going on and managed the visits to her. There had to be some way for her to show him how much he’d been a rock for her, that foundation of their family, that he’d once again come through for her in all the most important ways. For now, she had to get ready for him to come home. This was her routine now, and if nothing else, it reminded her every day (well, every day off shift) to keep rebuilding those ties between them, to strengthen their marriage, and to remember that Matt had been through an emotional ringer at least as much as she had the last several months.

“What’s this?” Matt asked, Jack in his arms, as always when he first got home from work. All Matt did was work anymore – if he wasn’t picking up overtime with the CFD he had construction projects going. She worried about him working too hard, but she also worried about him being too stressed about money if he didn’t take the extra work, so for now she mostly bit her tongue about the hours he was pulling.   
“I ordered delivery. I know money is still a little tight, but I thought you deserved a treat.”  
“You ordered Portillo’s? I know it isn’t November yet, so it isn’t my birthday. What did I do to deserve this?”  
“Besides being a fantastic firefighter, and a wonderful daddy?” She asked, kissing him softly. At least he didn’t seem shocked by that any longer, in fact, he was leaning into her gentle kisses now, though they never got any further than that. “You’re also a very handsome and charming husband, and I wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve done so much for me the last few months.”  
“That’s my job. I don’t need to be thanked-“  
“Well, maybe I need to do the thanking.”  
“God, the whole kitchen smells like Italian beef sandwiches.” Matt breathed deeply. “Whatever brought this on, I’m not gonna complain.”  
“Wass hans, Daddy.” Jack reminded, pointing towards the downstairs bath. Sylvie laughed lightly, but raised her eyebrows at Matt.

“You heard him, Daddy. Go wash your hands, so we can eat. Boys with dirty hands don’t get dinner, right, Jack?”  
“No dir-ee hans!”

“Did you wash your hands already, Peanut?” Matt asked, as he carried Jack towards the bathroom.

“Daddy wass Jack hans.”  
“Okay, we’ll wash hands together.” Sylvie almost teared up for some reason. Matt with his boys just had that effect on her. He was such a great father. You’d never know how insecure he really was about it; he was so good with them. It was no wonder Jack adored his daddy. She sniffled, while she finished plating dinner, and she was still sniffling when Matt came back into the kitchen. He settled Jack into his highchair, dropped a hand onto Alec’s head, as he dozed in his swing, and then pulled Sylvie into his arms. God, it had been too long since she’d been here. Too long since she’d been folded into his embrace and just able to rest against his chest, her cheek on his shoulder, smelling the natural sweat and Matt smell of him at the end of a day.

“Sylvie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just being silly.”  
“You’re not really the silly type. So what’s going on? It’s been good the last few days, hasn’t it?”  
“No, I’m fine, Matt, really.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes to reassure him that this wasn’t some sort of mood swing. “I just get overwhelmed sometimes, seeing you with our boys.”  
“Did I do something wrong?”  
“No, God, no, Matt, nothing. You’re so good with Jack and Alec and it just makes me all emotional. Good emotional. These are appreciative tears.”  
“ _Appreciative_ tears? That’s a new one.” Matt chuckled. “You’re sure you’re okay?”  
“I’m sure. I just love seeing my boys together.”  
“Hung-ee!” Jack proclaimed loudly, startling Alec into adding a few short cries.

“Sorry, Jack, Mommy and Daddy got distracted.” Sylvie reassured. “I’ll have your dinner in a minute. Please don’t shout.”  
“You want me to feed him or do you think he can manage?”  
“He’ll make a mess, but I think he can manage.”  
“Thank you.” She looked up from finishing Jack’s plate, surprised to be thanked.

“For dinner? Matt, it’s-“  
“No. For my sons. For this life. For thinking I’m worth this, I guess.”  
“I’m not sure what you mean. But you’re welcome, I think. And if we’re thanking people for our pretty darn perfect sons, thank you, too – for making me a mommy. I know it may not seem like it the last few months, but I love it, and I love them, and I love you.”  
“I thoroughly enjoyed making you a mommy, no thanks necessary.” His grin had a hint of teasing and dirty to it, and her heart lifted to see it. It was so normal, so them, that she couldn’t help smiling broadly in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the bit of a wait between chapters was worth it! Chapter 5 should be up tomorrow.


	5. A Milestone

It took a couple days before she had a chance to get back to reading Matt’s therapy journal. Shift got in the way, plus she just got busy some afternoons. She felt badly that she didn’t feel badly about reading it which even in her own head seemed a bit weird. She should feel guilty, shouldn’t she? Yet, the insight it gave her was valuable, and rebuilding the connections between her and her husband was well worth any invasion of his privacy in her opinion. Plus, if he would just talk to her and tell her these things himself, she wouldn’t need to read it, but he was even more laconic than usual these last months, practically mute really, and she couldn’t remember the last time he’d confided in her about anything. She didn’t want to push, as they started to achieve even brief moments of their old balance, but it bothered her that he wasn’t ever talking about anything really important with her – pleasantries, stuff about the boys, but nothing heavy, and nothing really about him. That scared her enough to push her to keep reading, if nothing else to know what she’d done, what he’d felt and thought, so she could keep winnowing away at his reconstructed defenses.

* * *

August 5. I’m not going to be writing anywhere near daily in this for now. Nugget is still in the NICU. He developed respiratory problems and keeps having problems when they try to wean him off the oxygen. Sylvie came ‘home’ if you want to call her sleeping here but being in the NICU every possible hour as being home. Her blood pressure is stable and she’s healing well. Normal vaginal delivery, thankfully. I hope she’s serious about Nugget being our last because she may have altered my boys – she grabbed them hard enough to seriously hurt four times, and right at the end, I think she tried to just crush them. The problem with being so close to her when she’s laboring is I’m in reach, but if I tried to not be in reach she got upset and the least I can do when she's laboring is be physically there if she wants me there. She doesn’t remember grabbing my balls, but trust me, the labor nurses probably do. I puked through two contractions before I got back out there in time for Nugget’s official arrival. A week later, I’m still bruised and swollen all to fuck. I’m more worried that I haven’t had wood since. Could be I’m just exhausted. I haven’t slept more than two hours at a stretch since we went to the hospital. I don’t think anyone has. Jack’s sleep is disrupted, which means my sleep is disrupted – I’m just crashing on his floor right now, so I know he doesn’t wake up Sylvie with anything. I’ll call my doctor if I don’t get hard in the shower or the mornings within the next few days. Someday, she might miss that working. I definitely will. Cathy and Chuck left yesterday, had to go back to Indiana. Cathy cleaned the whole house from top to bottom while she was here. I’m too tired to even feel guilty about that. Chuck mostly kept Jack entertained. If my sons only get one grandfather, at least they’ve got a great one. I am so grateful for that. It makes me miss Dad, though. Maybe that’s stupid. He might've felt about my sons like he usually did about me. I’ll never know what kind of grandfather he would’ve been, though, if he’d be so proud and so good at playing with a toddler, like Chuck. I’ll never know if I’ve finally done something to make him proud, to make him change his mind about being ashamed of the fact that I carry the Casey name. Dr. Sandlin says it’s normal to still love him, to still regret that he’s gone, even if I know he wasn’t always a great guy. He was a nasty drunk and an abusive husband, and he was a strict father, but he was my dad. Under it all, even when I most disappointed him, he loved me. He wasn't very proud of me, or proud at all really, but he loved me. And there's a lost opportunity to know him as an adult, for him to know me as an adult. I’m damned lucky Chuck and Cathy like me. They’ve both been fussing after me the last couple days, in different ways. Cathy texted me today to ask what I ate. She worries about me. That's weird. No one ever worries about me. I’m always fine. It’s kind of nice. She left a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and something called millionaires shortbreads. A big batch. Sylvie doesn’t care for them that much. She left homemade plain shortbread for Sylvie. Cathy made those for me. People don’t make things just for me, except when they want something from me. I’m not the kind of person people like that much. Still, the cookies are good, and the chocolate caramel shortbread things are fantastic. I’m eating one right now. Okay, more like six. They’re really good. Cathy seemed happy just to know I like them. I may have the world's greatest in-laws, which makes sense, they raised Sylvie. 

* * *

Sylvie grabbed her phone, needing to call her mother suddenly. She could send a text, but she needed to hear Mom’s voice. The call rang through for just a couple minutes, then a comfortable, familiar, wonderful

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?”  
“I’m great, Mom.”  
“You don’t sound great, you sound emotional. Are things alright?”  
“I’m fine. I’m just…I’m reading Matt’s therapy journal and-“  
“Does he know you’re reading that?”  
“No, but he wouldn’t mind.” She didn’t think he’d mind, anyway, not if it helped mend all the things between them. “I’m reading it, and it’s right at the point when Alec was born, and you and Dad came up, and I just needed to say thank you and I love you.”  
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to thank us for coming to meet our new grandson. It was completely our pleasure. How are our little boys?”  
“Both sleeping right at the moment.” Sylvie laughed lightly. “Jack is either going full-speed ahead or sleeping these days. New words the last few days include jump, apple, and outside instead of just out.”

“And the big boy?”  
“Matt is at work, uh, contractor work." Sylvie paused. "Thank you for worrying about him. And for the treats you made before you left.”  
“I didn’t make, oh, you mean when Alec was first born. Did Matt actually write about that in his journal?” Mom sounded amused by that.  
“He did.” Sylvie smiled, thinking about the way Matt's eyes would have lit up. “He was really touched that you made something specially for him, not us together, just him. He loves your baking, all your cooking, but especially the baking. You make me look bad, Mom, I never remember to do things like make him cookies just because.”  
“You’re busy raising his two sons.” Mom pointed out. “How’s he doing with the rest of it, the things between you two? Is that getting better? Have you two talked about how you treated him?”  
“That’s why I’m reading, he’s not talking.” Sylvie sighed. “I’m working on it, little things based on what I’ve read. I’m trying to ease back into…his life in some ways.”  
“Is he sleeping in the master bedroom every night yet?” Mom asked pointedly.   
“Uhm, no. He’s still here in the guest room.”  
“Start with that. If he’s not in your bed, sweetie, he’s not feeling very loved or included, I promise you that. I’m not saying you have to have sex-”  
“Mom!”  
“But you should sleep next to him. Oh, and I’ll send you the recipe for that millionaire shortbread, if he liked them that much. Baked goods always help a man’s mood.” Mom paused, then sounded as if she was smiling, “especially _your_ man. It wouldn’t hurt for him to feel like you made something just for him. He doesn’t need much, your Matt, but a little bit of special attention makes him light up like a Christmas tree. It’s kind of adorable.”  
“It’s kind of sad.” Sylvie replied, shaking her head. “He’s so surprised when people do anything for him, even just making him cookies, but it’s not a bad idea at all. I’ll put in extra chocolate. Maybe just give him straight chocolate. It’s not like bribery is it?”  
“Not at all. It’s just letting him know that you’re thinking about him, even while you’re not necessarily interested in _other_ things about him. Right now.”  
“Mom.”  
“When _did_ you last sleep with him, sweetheart?”  
“ _Mom_.”  
“Sex has two functions, Sylvie. One is making more grandbabies for your father to spoil." Sylvie had to chuckle, like Dad was the only one spoiling and bragging on their grandchildren. "The other is helping build and sustain intimacy between the people involved. If you’re not physically intimate, you need to find another way to do that, because that intimacy is very important.”  
“When did you become a relationship therapist?”  
“Speaking of, you should talk to Matt’s therapist, Dr. Sandlin, right? Bring it up in therapy. That’s a safe space and you’ll have help to communicate.”  
“Matt stopped going to Dr. Sandlin.” Sylvie admitted, a little reluctantly.   
“What? Why would he do that? You can’t expect me to believe he’s ‘cured’ after all the messes in his early life.”  
“No, he…the insurance company wouldn’t approve his therapy for coverage, because it isn’t related to his work and he doesn’t have any sort of diagnosis, and he can’t claim to have an issue that creates a substantial impact in his ability to do his job or go about his daily life, like PTSD or something because it's a lie - and Matt wouldn't lie - and it raises flags downtown. And he says that for now, we have better things to spend that $800 or so a month on, like paying off Alec’s NICU stay.” Sylvie had not been able to argue him around on that. She had stopped trying as it became clear that Matt’s issues with debt were causing more anxiety than she thought stopping therapy would cause.

“So your insurance is saying he’s not _sick enough_ , that’s what I’m getting from that.”  
“Basically.” Sylvie nodded, though obviously Mom couldn’t see it. “And I can’t argue with him that we don’t have other bills to pay, between all my pregnancy stuff to deal with, and the meds for the hormones and the…everything, and my long leaves – unpaid of course – and Alec’s hospital bills, and no, Mom, you and Dad cannot help. That would just make Matt feel worse. We’re fine, it’s just a little lean spot. He’s pulling overtime and working extra construction projects, and he says our finances should be back where he wants them by next summer. We just have to be careful until Alec’s first birthday or so, the next annuity payment will get us right side up again.”

“We worry about you, all of you. And we’ve had good years the last few years on the farm, and with your father’s pension-”  
“We appreciate the offer, but we’re fine. Really.” Sylvie insisted. She didn’t like the idea of taking money from her parents anyway, but asking Matt to take ‘charity’ from just about anyone for anything would be awful, especially given how insecure he must be feeling already. She didn't fully understand why, but she did understand that Matt took a lot of his own measure by his ability to 'take care of' his family, especially financially.   
“Maybe it’s the lack of therapy wearing on Matt as well.” Mom suggested, after a very short pause. “He was doing so well, you said, maybe he’s just having a bit of a setback of sorts.”  
“Maybe. I’ll try to talk to him tonight. I do think it’s a good idea to have him move back into the master bedroom. He might be reluctant, though.”  
“Well, make sure he knows it’s his choice at this point, dear. That’s all you can do, I guess.”

A few more pleasantries to finish off the call, and she hung up. She felt a little better, both for having thanked her mom for taking care of Matt, even in a tiny little way, but also for the advice Mom doled out. It was good advice. She needed to rebuild the intimacy between them, even if she didn’t quite think she was ready for physical intimacy. For whatever reason, maybe her hormones still needed sorting, she just hadn’t been feeling all that physically attracted to him, or for that matter, any man – her libido was still nonexistent apparently. She enjoyed kissing him, and his scent was back to being more than pleasant, she just didn’t feel _sexy_. At all. There were other ways, though, to start building that closeness and trust back up between them, and then when she was feeling sexy again, they could work on that (and given how quickly she'd gone from finding his smell unpleasant to finding it wonderful again, that could be just a couple days down the road). She turned back to his journal, more determined than ever to delve into what he’d been thinking – she wanted to do this strategically, to attack the weakest points first and get those reinforced. But Matt was not going to be spilling his biggest fears from the last few months any time soon, or perhaps ever. He dealt with things by not dealing with them, which was unhealthy, so she needed to spy (sort of) a little to figure out where to start working. Well, where to start that wasn’t jumping back into sex.

* * *

August 11. Alec’s due date. Yeah, it’s Alec. I won out against Xander. Not because I wanted it. What I want has never mattered less. Jack struggled with Alexander but said A-ick or something like that, and Sylvie sobbed, but apparently it was good sobbing. She said it was perfect. I like it, too. Alec Casey. Sounds like a name that fits a boy and a man both. Some names sound fine on a kid, but you wonder about a 40-year-old with it, like Chip or something really kind of cutesy as Sylvie would say. He’s still my Nugget. He’s coming home tomorrow. He’s in the bassinet in the master with Sylvie for months. I finished the crib and put it in Jack’s room already, so he can get used to it before he’s invaded by his brother. Back in the winter, we decided we’d keep the last upstairs bedroom a guestroom for now, separate the kids as needed when they’re older. Good thing we did, or I’d be on the sofa in the living room. Tried sleeping in the master when Sylvie was in the hospital. It was nice to sleep with her smell, even if I couldn’t have her. I miss just sleeping with her, tangled together and just being close like that. Got woke up at 2 am by Jack screaming his head off. Guess who is climbing out of his crib like a rockstar now? Went into the guest room looking for me and panicked. I wanted to make his crib into a toddler bed (I built it, I know how to convert it) but when I told Sylvie she spent 20 minutes telling me I’m stupid, I think, mostly that I will fuck up our son irreparably if I push him too early to leave a crib. All I was thinking about was the danger of him climbing out over his crib and falling. Apparently, that is not sensitive to his psycho-social development. Of course, I gave in, because I know I’m pretty much always wrong, and I’m not exactly drawing on a huge well of natural instinct or being well-parented myself, and the Bretts clearly did it right, so we're going with Sylvie's way. So now I just have about a million cushions surrounding his crib. Can I put him in a helmet to sleep, like coordinate it with his pajamas? Just in case? Now I have two boys to worry about. I never thought I’d love occasional sheer terror and constant worry so much. But when Jack runs up to me after work, babbling his day and half of it is stories he played in his head, or he needs anything, just a drink or a hug or a story or a broken toy, and he looks at me with that trust and that ‘Daddy can fix anything’ love in his eyes, it’s the greatest feeling in the world. He’s learning new words and getting better at saying all of his words, and he’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Someday he’ll figure out I’m pretty mediocre, but I can’t imagine ever being less than blown away by my son. Sons. How did I get so damned lucky? I don’t deserve any of them. All I can do is work as hard as I can to be the best I can, and hope it’s enough.

* * *

Sylvie put the journal down, hearing Matt arrive downstairs. He was back early. That was a good thing. Both boys were still sleeping, and they’d have time for a conversation without worrying too much about little ears. Of course, Alec was too tiny for those worries, but Jack was not. So she hurried downstairs, after peeking into the boys’ room to check on Jack and the master to check on Alec, wanting to greet her husband and take at least a little while to just spend time with him. She missed his company.

She met him in the foyer, as he was clearly getting ready to come upstairs. She smiled gently at him but couldn’t help noticing his reaction wasn’t nearly as effusive to her greeting as it was when Jack ran to him. Still, at least he was smiling and not looking actively suspicious or like he expected to be in trouble for something.

“You’re done early with the Novotny project.” She kissed him gently, taking his hand and bringing him towards the living room.  
“Tiling took less time than I thought, and it has to set overnight before I can finish up in their bathroom, so I knocked off early. The boys still napping?”  
“I just checked on them, and they’re both out like a light.” She paused. “Sorry Jack didn’t come running like he usually does; I know it’s kind of your favorite part of the day.”  
“I'm still amazed he's running. I can’t believe he’s as big as he is. Seems like he should still be Alec’s size.” Matt smiled broadly. Anything about his boys pretty much put that big proud smile on his face.   
“Matt, we need to talk.” Sylvie had waited, maybe just hoping that a better time would just magically appear, but it hadn’t in the last few days, and as she’d promised Mom, it was time to stop waiting and start doing. In this case, start talking. She just didn’t want to spend another night in this new routine that had somehow developed in their lives, though it probably wasn’t all that new, being months old now. She also didn’t want to have no answers for awkward questions from Mom the next time they spoke. He met her eyes, a look of…suppressed dread, she thought, that’s what his face held.

“It’s not bad, Matt. I mean, it’s not maybe comfortable but it’s nothing bad news or anything like that.” She tried to reassure him. “Sit with me.”

“You know, I think those might be the four words men most fear – we need to talk.” Matt sighed but followed her deeper into the living room. She sat, then patted the sofa next to her, and he took the hint and sat near her. Not quite next to her. “What’s wrong, Sylvie?”

“Us.” Sylvie admitted uneasily. “I’m worried about ‘us’ Matt. I don’t think you’re going to leave me, and I’m definitely not planning to leave you,” she saw his shoulders relax quite a bit there, “but I’m worried that we can’t sustain our relationship like it is right now.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I know it’s my fault, but I don’t like that you sleep in the guest room. I don’t want to sleep in separate rooms and be roommates who just happen to share two beautiful sons. I feel like we’ve gotten to that point. We haven’t had a ‘date night’ since before I went on bed rest – my birthday was the last time I can think we went out together – and you’ve slept almost every night since then in the guest room.”  
“You asked me to do that.” Matt pointed out.

“I know, that’s why I said I know it’s my fault.” Sylvie replied, hoping that aloud she didn’t sound as snappy as it sounded in her head. “Now I’m saying I’d…like you to come back in our bedroom, sleep with me.”

“Why?”  
“Why?” She hadn’t expected him to ask that. She tried to find a coherent response. “I want to sleep next to my husband. I want us to be close again. I miss cuddling with you, and just being with you, and waking up to see you smiling in your sleep sometimes. It’s super adorable. I miss the us we used to be. I’m not, I’m not ready for sex, Matt, not just yet, but I want to sleep next to you.”  
“I miss that too. I mean, the cuddling, and sleeping together, not, well, I do miss sex, but I get it, it’s fine, I just…of course, whatever you want, we’ll try it. I’ll probably bother you too much, though, maybe we should start off every other night or something to ease you-“  
“Let’s not borrow any unlikely trouble. I miss you. I miss your smell, and your stupidly constant heat – like a space heater – and the way you snuffle into my hair, and the feel of your arms around me, which makes me feel so secure, and I don’t know. I just miss that. I have for a little while, but I was worried about pushing you, or having an awkward conversation.”

“I…” Matt paused, and she gave him the time he needed to sort out his feelings and what he wanted to say. Rushing him just ended in him saying the wrong thing and getting frustrated. She waited patiently until he sighed and said, “Can I think about it?”  
“You don’t want to sleep with me?”  
“That’s not what I meant. I just, maybe I meant more can _you_ think about it a little longer?”  
“Why?”  
“I don’t know how many times I can take being kicked out, Sylvie. So if I come back in, I need you to really mean it. No second thoughts and no changing your mind because I smell bad or I take up too much space, or I’m too hot, or I touch you too much. I mean, for a night or two because someone has a stomach bug, okay, but not this permanent sort of thing. If it’s not permanent, I don’t…I’m used to it now, and going back and forth….” Matt trailed off, she knew he was really struggling to say what he was feeling.

“Okay.” She was so happy that he was talking to her, really talking to her, about his fears and concerns, even though he was struggling to express them, that she would’ve agreed to anything just to make sure he felt validated and confident in continuing to talk to her. “I’ll think on it for another few nights. If I still feel the same after those nights, will you move back in?”  
“Absolutely.” Matt smiled broadly, and for the first time in too long, he initiated a kiss with her. Sylvie’s heart lifted, not just from his agreement but from the feeling of success and progress and relief at what felt like a really big milestone. Maybe it was silly, but it felt huge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is really something of a recovery story - and the latter chapters will be much "fluffier" than these earlier chapters. Hope you're all hanging in there!


	6. Don't Apologize to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: discussion of a past physical altercation between a married couple and references to past domestic abuse situations
> 
> (TWs are hard to write without spoilers)
> 
> Also, this chapter is very long (nearly 6,000 words) but I just could not find a good place to break it up. Sorry it's so big ;)

She had a daily tradition now, any afternoon nap-time Matt wasn’t home, of settling in for at least a few minutes with his journal. It was strange to read about events she either barely remembered or remembered not at all. She had been so out of it, it was almost like reading about someone else’s life, except that this was her husband, so it had to be her life, and she was dealing with the consequences of the events, but she honestly didn’t remember a lot of those days. Even the stuff she did remember, it was fascinating and sometimes embarrassing or depressing or a little scary to get Matt’s point of view.

* * *

August 14. I’m going to keep writing, even if I’m not seeing Dr. Sandlin for probably a year, maybe longer. It’s money that could be spent elsewhere and I’m not exactly sick, just a whiner who needs help coping with basic life problems. So, I wrote down all the advice she gave me for a gap in therapy, and I’m going to continue to vent here, and I’m going to man up, deal with my shit on my own, and things will be okay. Sylvie’s version of the baby blues is weird. She’s hyperactive. Wants to go back to work as soon as possible. I guess if Cindy is willing to watch Alec when he’s this little – and Jack too – we can do it, and she’s right, the money will help. The idea of sending her back to work because I can’t provide financially makes me angry. No, that’s not the right word. I can hear Dr. Sandlin telling me to find the right word for a feeling, not to rely on angry for everything that isn’t happy. I feel like a failure. It’s humiliation and frustration and sadness. I can pull more shifts now that she’s home, of course. I put off construction work, too, because I had to be here with Jack. That’ll help, too. My next eight weeks is packed with overtime at CFD and construction. If I figured it out right, I’ll manage to almost double my salary those two months. I can sleep over winter when the construction work dries up. It’s kind of weird, like nostalgia. Last time I can remember planning to work this many hours was when I was just out of school. Back when I was living at the storage facility, I had five part-time jobs that came to something like 120 hours a week working, not including the time getting to and from the jobs. Made about $5 an hour. Anyone who’s ever had to feed me knows a lot of that went right to food. I remember I always seemed to be hungry. Mr. Doherty offered me a construction job, paid me $15 an hour, which I knew was overpaying, because he felt I think he still feels like he owes me. I took it though. Got an apartment, started sorting my life out. I know I can work these kinds of hours, the issue is that a lot of the construction work can only be done during certain hours, but the permitting and paperwork I can do that whenever at least. I’ve done enough of it on shift or at 3 am to know it doesn’t matter when that bit is done, as long as it gets done before deadlines. So I can dig us out of the hole, but Sylvie is just impatient to be back to normal – normal before pregnancy. The house has never been so clean. Sylvie isn’t sleeping right. Not even for a brand-new mom. Something feels off. Not that there is any way at all for a husband to tell his just-gave-birth wife that she’s acting oddly. I’m not suicidal. Plus my boys finally feel better after the delivery room incident. Have wood in the mornings again, too, but not in the shower or other times I used to. Maybe I’m just getting old. At least I didn’t have to go to the doctor and try to explain that my wife managed to break my balls, literally, while laboring. So I’ll wait, see if it’s just a weird hormonal period or I’m over sensitive or something.

* * *

Sylvie stopped at the end of the entry, thinking over what he’d written down and what she remembered of August. She had wanted to go back to work right away, even with Alec just a couple weeks old, though the doctors hadn’t cleared her until Alec was five weeks old anyway. Thank God for Cindy Herrmann, who had in fact been willing to take both boys. Matt had insisted on increasing the childcare payments, despite the financial crunch, and Sylvie remembered having to reassure both Cindy and Herrmann that Matt wasn’t trying to be offensive, he just felt like he was ripping them off otherwise, and they’d both finally accepted that the kinder thing was to just let Matt Casey pay them what he thought was fair. He had insisted that it was bad enough he wasn’t paying near what they would for ‘professional’ childcare and they were getting a much better service, which Sylvie would’ve thought was a deliberate attempt to soften Cindy up except Matt was not that type of guy. He truly believed Cindy was a far better option than the daycares, and since she was giving up work on her decorating business to do that, he was going to fairly remunerate her. Cindy had not been able – despite trying – to convince Matt that she was grateful for the time with her adopted nephews, and that she was more than happy to help them out. Despite his generosity with his own time and skills, Matt just couldn’t seem to understand that he didn’t have to pay people for everything they ever did for him.

The sleep disturbance was real, she remembered how little she had been sleeping, and that probably made her hormones and stuff worse. She hadn’t slept more than an hour or two a night there for a stretch. She remembered that manic feeling, even when the baby was sleeping she was wide awake and wanting to do things, whatever things made sense at the time. Some days she had felt like she was having small hallucinations, hearing, smelling, seeing things that weren’t quite there. A lot of this period, though, she just didn’t really remember. It was all a haze of odd pretty extreme feelings and exhaustion. She turned back to Matt’s journal, hoping to refresh her memory as well as getting insight into the issues with her husband.

* * *

August 21. Something is wrong with Sylvie. She can’t seem to sit still, let alone sleep. I tried to gently say something. Very gently. She reacted like a whole other person. One I’ve never met before. I’ve been called a lot of names in my life. This was still impressive. Some aren’t even real things. She was just shoving every cuss word and bad name she knew together into one long rant. That’s how pissed she was. Some of it hit, though. Direct hit. I’m the world’s biggest asshole. Of course her hormones are all over the place. It’s normal. She’s had two kids in fifteen months. I don’t have a clue what that does to your body, since my job is easy. I just worry. She’s not sleeping. She’s angry a lot of the time and when she’s not, she’s sobbing or hyperactive. Why am I such an asshole? How have I not learned to just never say anything to a woman I love? I’m always wrong and say the worst possible thing. At least I’m good at something. Very consistent. Still, it’d be nice to be consistently good at something other than talking out of my ass and pissing off my wife. I have the easy part of this, so if I can help her adjust by just shutting up and taking the brunt of bad moods, that’s what I’m gonna do. It’s my job to do that, be that, for her. The place she can vent and always be safe.

* * *

She knew Matt meant that, that he’d meant it then and would mean it the rest of his life, and that bothered her. He shouldn’t feel like his job in life was to bear the brunt of someone else’s problems. The fact that he felt a sense of accomplishment from taking that on, it made her nuts. The fact that he felt then – and probably still now – that the only thing he was consistently good at was pissing off the women in his life made her livid, with herself and every other woman in his life because Matt was such a great guy, and he was good at lots of things in relationships, not just at saying the wrong thing at times – everyone did that. Besides, he should be able to express his concerns about her behavior, about anything really, to her without her blowing up at him. In fact, now, she wished he’d open his mouth more, but how could she blame him for being reluctant to share when he’d tried talking to her and all he’d gotten out of it apparently was the impression that speaking up made him an asshole. She was left wondering, though, just what exactly she had said that scored that ‘direct hit’ and how much damage she’d done.

* * *

August 28. Sylvie’s moods are whole new level stuff. She’s like old Sylvie with the boys, thank God, and only a bit sharper and moodier with other people when they come over. It’s just me. So maybe it’s not anything wrong with Sylvie. I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. I thought I knew her. It turns out, I do nothing but make wrong decisions all day. I’m not sure when I last made the right call at home. Even when I know it’s right, it’s wrong. I hope her going back to work soon will help her feel more normal, or help me feel more normal, and we can get some balance back. I miss having a wife who spoke to me like I’m somewhere north of pond scum in both intelligence and value. It’s weird. I’ve always known I’m pretty much dumb as dirt. I can’t remember a time before I knew I was the slow kid. I cover it up at work by doing all the research and reading three times at least. Hard work can cover a lot of stupid, I learned that back in school. Jack is apparently advanced for his age, credit to Sylvie. I always have loved smart women. So I’m used to being the dumb one in a relationship. I’m just not used to it being so obvious that the woman in my life ~~knows it~~ accepts it. I guess I should be. Gabby knew. She never said it out loud, but I knew she knew. It was in her eyes, when we’d disagree, this look that was just like ‘why is he too stupid to see what I’m saying here?’ I kind of figured that was why she didn’t always tell me things: she knew I wouldn’t understand. Hallie insisted I was smart. Hallie also insisted I was really good-looking so I think she just told nice lies or had bad taste. I’m glad she thought so, though. I started reading Sherlock Holmes the other day when I couldn’t sleep. Reminded me of Hallie. I love my family, wouldn’t change for anything, but I wish I had the comfort of knowing Hallie was out there, being herself. She was amazing and so loved. I’ve had some bad days, had to do some awful things, but the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life is tell Mr. and Mrs. Thomas that Hallie was dead, that I hadn’t been able to save her. The guilt never leaves you. I know she didn’t die from the fire, but it still feels like I should’ve…done more. Something. I don’t know. Told her that the clinic set off alarm bells in my head. It did. I didn’t want to make her mad, we were still too new again for me to say anything. I know her parents blamed me. I don’t mind. If it makes them feel better to have someone alive to blame, someone to hate, I can take it. It’s not like I’ve seen them since her funeral. I stayed in the back there. I wasn’t anything to Hallie by that point, certainly not to her family. And I didn’t want to make things harder for them by trying to act like I had the same right to grieve as they did. Good reminder though. Lesson learned. Sometimes it’s worth the fight to speak up when you see something wrong.

September 1. Tried again to approach Sylvie about her mood swings. I’m worried this is more like postpartum depression than just the ‘baby blues’. She got irrational. Angry is normal now. She’s always angry at me. I’m trying to take it as a compliment, I’m the guy she knows she can vent on and I’ll still be here, I’ll love her no matter what and be here no matter what. She trusts me and that’s always a good thing. Fundamental thing. Angry is normal. Calling me names is normal. Those didn’t worry me. A ten-minute rant about an affair I’m not having with some ‘side piece’ who I think she means Rochelle Sliger, that isn’t normal at all. Found out that Sylvie thinks that since we’re not having sex – her choice, not mine, well, except that it’s still too close to Alec’s birth – I’m clearly just a walking penis and have found someone anyone else to fuck me. Again, trying to find a compliment in it, she for some reason thinks I’m hot enough to get a ‘side piece’ which is sort of nice to know. Twenty minutes later, she’s all over me at bedtime stories, not for sex just all the cuddling and the affectionate nicknames, like it was the honeymoon phase all over again. Minus the sex. I miss sex. Her birthday was the last time she had a thing to do with my dick. I think it was June the last time we even touched for much more than a moment. But she kissed me last night, and I got to join in bedtime stories. A little goodnight kiss, but that was the first time in months that I even got that much. Maybe we’re both somewhere strange mentally. I think I can live off that little kiss for weeks. It feels like a taste of normal. Tiny dot on the horizon normal but still a taste of it. She loves me. I know that. I miss the physical affection. Jack’s cuddles are great, but it’s not the same thing. I can say it here. I need a hug. I need someone to just take 30 seconds or so to touch me with kindness. Maybe Sylvie’s not entirely crazy. In between relationships before, this is about the time I’d go try to find a girl at a bar or something, because even just a one-night-stand at least is someone touching me with desire and affection, short-term affection is still affection. I would never do that to Sylvie, of course. Still, it was fantastic, cuddling for bedtime stories with Jack – and he was beaming the whole time, too, fell asleep with the cutest smile on his face. It’s a good day.

* * *

Sylvie paused before turning to the next page. Matt had been completely right, it was a lot more than just the baby blues. She didn’t remember that evening at all. She didn’t remember thinking Matt was having an affair. Matt had plenty of flaws, but he was intensely loyal and the mere idea of him cheating on anyone was ludicrous. It was easy to remember her fear that he was unhappy and missing sex because it was still with her. She was still pretty certain of it, in fact. Matt had to be missing sex. It had been nearly seven months. Besides, he even admitted it in his journal, that normally he’d be trying to find a girl to have sex with at this point, so of course, he missed sex. Sylvie wasn’t at all surprised by that. What surprised her was that she’d accused him of sleeping with Rochelle Sliger. Rochelle lived three doors down the street, and while Sylvie had no doubt that the woman – divorced with three kids – would ride Matt hard if he made the slightest indication of interest, she was equally sure that Matt was only vaguely aware that Rochelle was female. He was far more interested in her kids, which is how they’d met – at the park, since Rochelle’s daughter Mia was only a couple months older than Jack. Sylvie wasn’t entirely sure Mia was Rochelle’s ex-husband’s child, but she hadn’t asked. Matt probably knew. Matt had all the dirt on all the neighbors. She had begun to suspect that Matt got Trudy to pull up the neighbors’ information. Trudy would totally do it, too. Not just because she liked Matt, but because Trudy Platt had taken on the Casey boys as her own sort of nephews, and well, she was scarily protective of her chosen family. How had Sylvie thought Matt was interested in Rochelle, though? Matt spent more time with her kids on the playground than with Rochelle. Though he was definitely wrong about one thing: he was definitely still hot enough to get a ‘side piece’. For about the thousandth time since knowing Matt, Sylvie wondered what mirrors he used, they must be horribly magical, or he was blind. She shook it off and turned to the next entry.

* * *

September 4. Sylvie hit me today. I’m okay. I don’t mean just physically. I’m okay with it. Should I be worried about how okay I am? Should I be having some sort of breakdown or crisis? She flinches from me. Not after. For weeks now. She flinches. She hit me. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t care that she hit me. I worry that she flinches and pulls away. All I can do is be gentler and give her more space. It’s not like she randomly hit me. She was mad. If I just don’t piss her off, it’ll be fine. She went back to work, first shift was quiet, but yesterday was crazy busy. She’s tired. We’re all tired. The only good news is the confirmation that she throws a pretty decent punch. Not like Gabby did – she hits like a mule for a girl her size – but it’s good to know Sylvie can put some hurt on a guy if he gives her trouble.

* * *

She had known eventually this sort of entry would happen. She’d known because she remembered a couple times of hitting him. She suspected there had been more. She was pretty certain that there had been more. It was one of the reasons she most wanted to get Matt back into therapy, hell, to get them both back into therapy. She wasn’t even sure how to start approaching this topic, especially with Matt, who grew up in an abusive situation and that made her feel a thousand times worse. She had hit Matt, who was sweet and gentle and so careful with her. She had hit her husband, who had grown up being hit as ‘punishment’ (he never really said it, but she knew) and who just accepted it as normal, or worse as his due. The fact that he was okay with it didn’t surprise her, but it pissed her off and made her sad and horrified her all at once. He should be angry, hurt, shocked, considering a separation, something. Instead, he found some good news in it, as if the fact that she could hurt him was a good thing. Her cycle of self-recrimination was broken by the sound of Jack calling for her. Apparently the boys were up and it was time to start dinner. She glanced at the clock, they’d gotten a nice nap in this afternoon and Matt should be home soon.

She got downstairs and checked her phone to find that Matt had texted from his work site that he was running late and wouldn’t be home for probably an extra hour or hour-and-a-half. She knew he’d be disappointed because that meant she’d feed the boys separately: Matt liked to eat dinner as a family on the nights they weren’t on shift (even if Alec was obviously still only taking milk) but trying to hold dinner for him was a no-go because Jack was his father’s son – late meals meant a cranky Casey, and Jack’s cranky meant tantrums right now. She was looking forward to a post-tantrums stage, whenever that came. She put together a simple meal for Jack, and fed Alec while she watched Jack eat, and did her best to maintain conversation with Jack like it was a normal dinnertime. Matt usually got the whole report of Jack’s day over dinner, and she knew Matt cherished that time, it was written in every inch of his body language how much Jack’s rambling stories meant to him. The delay in dinner, though, had given her time to prepare something a little special for the adults’ dinner and she hoped it would give them an opportunity to talk without little ears, something that was too rare in their lives right now.

Matt got home just as dinner was finishing up. Jack nearly toppled his high-chair trying to get to his daddy while still strapped in (this is why they used the straps), but luckily Matt was able to get him out of it swiftly and right where Jack wanted to be, which was in his daddy’s arms. Sylvie wondered if she should feel jealous about how much Matt was blatantly Jack’s favorite, but she didn’t – she just savored having a husband who was such a great daddy. Matt smiled at Jack’s tumbling words as he tried to tell his daddy absolutely everything all at once.

“So, you had a good day, huh? What was the best bit?”  
“Bestest wif you ow.” Jack hugged Matt’s neck suddenly, and Sylvie knew her smile was teary, as Matt looked shocked, somehow, then just like he was pretty much in heaven.

“Yeah, this is the best part of my day, too, Peanut.” Matt agreed after a moment, clearly needing to gather himself a little. He pulled Jack slightly away from his shoulder, so he could meet his son’s eyes. “You know why?”  
“A cuh me!” Jack loudly declared.  
“Because I’m with you, and Alec, and Mommy, that’s right.” Matt grinned broadly. “All my favorite people in one place with me, that’s pretty great.”  
“No Uncelly.” Jack pointed out, almost pouting.  
“Well, no, Uncle Kelly isn’t here, but while he’s pretty cool, I don’t love him as much as I love you and your brother, and your mommy.”  
“Nest dough.”  
“He’s probably next, though, you’re right.” Matt laughed lightly. He glanced down, and his eyes went wide, his expressions all so much more when he was talking to his sons. “Jack, did you have baked apples with dinner?”  
“Appuh!” Jack nodded excitedly. “Appuh chin-un.”  
“Apples and chicken.” Sylvie translated, in case Matt couldn’t quite reason that one out. “And mashed sweet potatoes.”

“Wow, Jack, that sounds like a pretty delicious dinner.”  
“Ummy-ummy!” Jack nodded again quite energetically.

“Sorry I’m late, delivery ran late and I had to get the flooring fixed before I left.”  
“It’s okay, things happen.” Sylvie reassured. “But, it’s just about bath-time now for Jack, do you mind if we eat after the boys are down? I know that’s kind of late but-“  
“Not at all, let’s get the boys taken care of first. You could’ve eaten without me.”  
“I wanted to wait and eat with you.” Sylvie replied, giving him a soft smile. “I’ve missed some time just the two of us, Matt.”  
“Daddy baf tie.” Jack cut in.   
“Alright, Daddy will do bath time with you, Jack – if you agree that Mommy will do jammies and teeth with you so Daddy can do bath with Alec after. No fussing about Daddy doing bath with Alec.” Matt gave Jack a knowing look. Jack was not really sharing Daddy-time very well at the moment, with anyone, even his brother, who Jack was really great about sharing everything with usually.   
“Stowy?” Jack looked suspicious, which was an adorable look on a toddler.

“Mommy and I will both do story time with both you and your brother after all the baths and jammies and teeth and you’re both ready for the big sleep.”  
“Ah, one suggestion, Daddy?” Sylvie interrupted, though she kind of hated to do so. “How about Alec’s bath time first, and Jack and I will do his colors activity for tonight, then you do bath time with Jack?”  
“Well, Jack, I think that sounds like a good plan. You agree?”  
“Stowy?”  
“Yes, you’ll still get story time with the whole family in the big bed before the big sleep in your own beds.” Matt promised with a smile. Jack’s obsession with story time was unceasing, and Sylvie had to remember to ask Matt to record some new ones for shift nights – it had been a while and Cindy had said Jack sometimes seemed frustrated at the relative lack of choice compared to nights at home.

“Mommy pwan.” Jack nodded. He squirmed, and Matt obediently put him down. Jack darted to Sylvie and grabbed her hand. “Do colors. No make stowy late, Mommy.”  
“Well, no, we’d never want to make story time be late, would we?” Sylvie couldn’t help laughing. She stood, handing Alec to Matt, who took him and dropped a swift kiss to his forehead.   
“Hey, Alec, did you have a good day, too?”  
“He had a great day, and is growing like a weed. He’s gonna need some new clothes soon, Daddy.”  
“That’s great.” Matt smiled at her, genuine relief in his eyes. She knew he worried a lot about how much more slowly Alec was growing than Jack had, though they hadn’t spoken about it enough for her to fully know why. “And before you run off with Jack, Mommy, and I give Alec his bath, how was your day?”  
“It was mostly good, but I really do want to talk to you over dinner – it’s not bad news, or anything, just some things I want to, well, talk about. Before I forget though,” She leaned in, kissing him firmly, then pulled back, “welcome home, Daddy. Alright, Jack, let’s go do some practice with colors.”  
  


“I am the luckiest son of a bitch on this planet.” Matt announced as he came back into the kitchen, just as she was plating up dinner for the two of them. They’d finished story-time, and Matt had put the boys to bed, then asked if she minded getting their dinner together while he grabbed a quick shower. Of course, she didn’t mind. Certainly not with everything that was on her mind, but she didn’t think she ever would’ve minded.

“What brought you to that conclusion?” Sylvie asked with a smile.

“I have two of the best sons ever, and a beautiful wife, and a great home, and yeah, I’m just feeling pretty pleased with myself today.” Matt shrugged, but his smile was so warm and so genuine that it lifted her heart just seeing it. Could he really be this happy, with everything she had read this afternoon only weeks behind them?

“Do you have any idea how much I love you, Matt Casey?” She asked, without thinking, but it was the first thing that just popped out of her mouth.

“Given that you made me corn-bread crusted chicken, with some sort of cheesy bacon sauce, and baked apples, and asparagus, and sweet potatoes,” Matt looked down at his plate as she handed it to him, and then met her eyes, his grin that much wider, “I’m going to guess that today you love me a whole lot.”  
“There’s uhm, also chocolate cake for dessert. It’s kind of lopsided, Jack ‘helped’ this afternoon.” Sylvie almost felt the need to apologize for the blatant attempt at food bribery.

“Now you either love me a lot, or you’re apologizing for something huge.” Matt looked a combination of confused and concerned, though there was still a lot of happiness there, too, which she liked.

“It could be both.” Sylvie tried, as they both took seats at the table. “I really do love you a lot, and I know I haven’t been easy to live with the last several months, and dinner isn’t really enough to make up for that, but I wanted to…I guess show you. Oh, and that’s a bacon jalapeno popper sauce.”  
“You don’t owe me anything, Sylvie.” Matt took her hand, gently. “We’re married. It’s my job to be that guy, the one you can always count on, even when things are a bit harder.”  
“I, uh, did I really accuse you of sleeping with Rochelle down the block?”

“You remembered that fight, huh?” Matt laughed, releasing her hand to start on his meal. “Well, if I get this sort of dinner out of it, you can have irrational jealousies about _all_ our neighbors. You know, Diane is home alone a lot of evenings these days-“  
“Oh, don’t even.” Sylvie laughed, despite her concerns about this conversation. “Diane Kleberg thinks you’re adorable, not sexy. Rochelle at least would actually ride you until you popped if you were the least bit interested.”  
“Yeah, sure.” Matt rolled his eyes, but then paused, making a nearly obscene noise as he savored the bite of his chicken. Sylvie made a horribly petty decision to make something that made him make that noise the next time there was a ‘block party’ at the park down the street because the mean-girl-middle-schooler in her wanted Rochelle Sliger to know exactly what she was missing, and Matt’s good-food and sex sounds were very very similar. “God, Sylvie, this is…whatever you did, it’s forgiven. Just keep feeding me like this.”  
“I’m glad you like it. Jack had the chicken without the sauce, and the apples and potatoes, but apparently even with pointing out Daddy likes it, he’s not a fan of asparagus.”  
“He’ll learn.” Matt assured her confidently, humming pleasurably as he took a bit of asparagus that he’d run through the sauce first. “You’re a fantastic mother, Sylvie, he eats so well – do you know how many toddlers’ parents would love to have a kid who eats like Jack does? Ask Cindy. She’ll tell you how great a job you’re doing.”  
“We’re doing. I have a lot of help.” Sylvie reminded.

“Did you really do all this just to apologize for that ridiculous weird fixation you had about an affair I would never have?” Matt asked after a few more quiet (mostly, except that almost purring noise he was making) bites.   
“I hit you.” Sylvie blurted out. Matt stopped eating, put his fork down, and his smile faded. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, hold him, just something, everything, but wasn’t sure it would be welcome. They were still on sort of thin ice, rebuilding their relationship in some ways. Matt was silent for a moment, then met her eyes again.

“You did. Several times. Never in front of the boys, only once in front of another person, in fact. And I guess I should be grateful you did. I know it was that, seeing that, that pushed your mom into pushing you to see a doctor.”

“Matt, I can’t ever apologize enough-“  
“Don’t apologize to me for hitting me.” His voice was surprisingly firm, not meant to be a reassurance, more like an order, which confused her.   
“Why not? I’m so sorry, truly.”  
“Apologizing is part of the cycle. So is trying to ‘make it up to me’.” Matt pointed out, his tone sharp as he gestured to his dinner. “You can apologize to me for a lot of things, including random accusations of sleeping with a neighbor who even if we weren’t married I still wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot-pole for fear of what she’s carrying,”  
“Matt!” Sylvie was shocked into surprised laughter at that.

“Trust me, she gets around, as my grandmother would’ve put it.” Matt assured her. “And I’m going to guess she’s not very careful, given Mia is the reason she got divorced.”

“I wondered about that.”  
“Oh, yeah, remind me to tell you that story sometime, I didn’t want to know, but Rochelle told me for some…yeah.” Matt shook his head. “You can apologize for that stuff, Sylvie. You can cook like this just to soften me up for pretty much anything. I like being spoiled; I can admit that. Just don’t,” he paused, gathering his thoughts, “don’t apologize for hitting me. Don’t start that cycle, please. It happened, it’s fine, we can just keep moving on.”  
“What if I can’t? I hit you, Matt. How do I live with that?”  
“It’s not a big deal, not unless you make it one.”  
“Why didn’t _you_ make it one? You grew up with-“  
“You’re hardly my dad. You’re not abusive.”  
“I think punching you qualifies.”  
“I pissed you off. I shouldn’t have upset you.”  
“Now you sound like your mother, making excuses for a mean spouse.”  
“Don’t.” Matt cut her off sharply. “It’s not the same thing at all. It was a few weeks of a really rough patch, it’s not you, it’s not habitual, and it is nothing like my parents’ marriage. Nothing. I was there, you weren’t, trust me, I know the difference.”

“I feel terrible about it.”  
“And that’s why it’s different.” Matt glanced away for a moment, then clearly forced himself to meet her eyes again. “Dad never really felt ‘terrible’ about it. He’d apologize, later, but he never really was sorry. When he hit us, we deserved it. When he said the most demeaning, belittling, things possible, we deserved it. You were just venting crazy hormones that had your anger skyrocketing with nowhere else to vent. It was hard, I’m not going to lie, but it was a few weeks, Sylvie. You’re getting better. You…you did that, for me, you got help and got better. That’s what I need, not apologies that end up being meaningless.”

“Do you have any idea how much I love you, Matt Casey?” She asked again, amazed all over again at the man who had chosen her, who loved her and put up with her. She knew they were far from the ground they’d been on before, but maybe they really were ‘okay’. She wanted their relationship to be amazing, not okay, but she could live with okay for now.

“I do. I always did. But I have to admit, it’s nice to be treated like it, again. Though if you seriously keep cooking like this, I will gain like a hundred pounds.”

“Well, Mom would be happy with that – she says you’re too skinny, other women will think you’re not happily married if you don’t get at least a little bit fat.” Sylvie laughed, though it really was something Mom had said. Mom insisted that happily married men got soft around the middle, that was how you knew a man was happily married. Sylvie didn’t think that was entirely true, but it made Matt laugh as well, and that was totally worth the silliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may be thinking Jack is too verbal at 17-18 months of age, my nieces and nephew were fantastically verbal toddlers. I've tried to preserve the characteristic lack of grammar and structure, and the shifting sounds, of a toddler's English, but I'm used to kids who talk a lot fairly young; hopefully that doesn't distract anyone from the story. 
> 
> Hang in there through the rough patch, things really are looking up, promise!


	7. Mr. Hyde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Discussion of and reflection on past domestic abuse which may be difficult for some readers.
> 
> Also, another relatively long chapter. I think this chapter covers the relationship "nadir" and it gets better from here. If you want to skip to chapter 8, I hope to have that up tomorrow or maybe mid-week depending on some work stuff.

Sylvie felt better the next day, and she debated continuing to read through his journal. It felt like maybe it wasn’t necessary anymore, they had started talking again, and she also knew that at some point, she was going to have to tell him that she had read it. She was not going to be able to keep such a secret, it felt too much like lying to him. On the other hand, she might not have even started the conversation they had over dinner the other night if she hadn’t been reminded of previous incidents, and she might not be prepared for how to handle other things without knowing beforehand kind of where his head was at. Matt was hard to read sometimes, even for her, he was so good at just shoving everything down and playing through the pain. It took two days of debating with herself to decide – including being probably too distracted on shift, Howe had noticed but had let it go once Sylvie had insisted she was ‘fine’. Howe hadn’t believed her, of course, that was obvious, but she had let it go. In the end, though, Sylvie decided that she would keep reading, so she was fully aware of the entirety of Matt’s situation.

* * *

September 7. I hoped it would get better as Sylvie settled back in at work. She’s been back at work a week now. It’s not better. She’s almost herself at work, more hyper and a little sharper, but herself. Everyone at 51 is relieved, happy she’s back, and that she’s doing so well. She’s fantastic with the boys. She’s the greatest mother. Endlessly patient. Constantly encouraging, loving, affectionate, sweet. I watch her with our sons and I just keep falling deeper and deeper in love with her. She’s so great with them. She’s so naturally a mom. Then, when it’s just us, it’s like Mr. Hyde sometimes. She’s fine for a while, as long as I don’t try to get within three feet of her physically. That’s a trigger. She has lots. Dinner is wrong in any way. I forget anything at all. I smell like anything, including just myself. I breathe too loudly. I talk. I stay silent. I hover around her. I abandon her. Last night she was upset that we haven’t had sex, that I don’t even try. I tried to point out that she’s only just been cleared for sex, that with Jack we waited a bit, tried to ease back into it, and that she’s been physically repulsed by me for months. Somehow that became I said she was ugly and I was repelled by her. Which I never said. I never thought. She’s gorgeous. She’s losing the baby weight pretty fast, but even if she wasn’t, she’s still beautiful. I told her that. That became I said she was fat. Which melded into another accusation that I’m fucking around with clients or just random women on the street or something. At that point I couldn’t keep up. It was like listening to her repeat the plot of some novel, not our lives. All I got out of it is that I’m too old and too ugly for any ‘decent’ woman to touch me. I think that’s what she said. It was not very coherent. Didn’t make much sense with the accusations of an affair, or maybe several affairs. Looked in the mirror tonight when I was brushing my teeth. She’s right. I got old. I was never great looking. Now I’m old. It doesn’t matter unless Sylvie decides to leave me. I don’t need or want to attract anyone. It’d be nice to attract my wife, actually, but that’s clearly not happening for a while. If ever again. Still, I haven’t exactly let myself go, opposite really, trying to improve. Might as well try to look decent for her, not turn into some middle-aged beer-gut guy who harps on his wife for the baby weight. Though, actually, I like some of the extra curves, based on the very rare glimpses of her I get to see. Best thing about this journal, I can write what I think without pissing anyone off. Her tits get bigger with every pregnancy and they’re enough to make me hard just imagining them bouncing while she rides me, and the extra heft to her hips, and that ass is sexy as fuck, too. She’s not fat. She’s curvier. Somehow, I don’t think she sees me as having been improving over our relationship. Definitely don’t think Sylvie is looking at me and wishing sex was on the table. She’s so damned sexy, fuck, I have the filthiest dreams anymore, but she’s right, I don’t try. When you know going in it’s a no, why try? Why make her uncomfortable and set myself up for more rejection? I’m not the smartest guy, but I’m not that stupid.

* * *

Sylvie tried to remember if she’d ever actually thought Matt looked old or ugly or fat. Of course, her worst rages were complete black-outs, and exhaustion and hormones had stolen a lot of her memories of pretty much June to late September, but she wondered if her diagnosis explained delusions because that is what it would take to ever think Matt was any of those things. He remained annoyingly lean, almost skinny sometimes, no matter how much he lived on bacon and coffee and fast food snatched between jobs. She was flattered by the fact that he’d found her sexy even when she’d felt the exact opposite of it, and had been worried, still was a little, that her fit and lean husband would be turned off by cellulite and stretch marks and her new shape. She was losing the baby weight pretty regularly, it still wasn’t off, Alec was less than three months old so she wasn’t exactly taking forever, she knew that, but she wanted Matt to want her. She wanted him to still get that look in his eyes like he’d had when she put that microkini on during their honeymoon, that almost-attacked look that also made him look like a hunter with his prey in his sights. The only thing she really got from that entry is more gratitude that apparently – based on their discussion the other night – Matt was bemused by and very willing to forgive her insane accusations of infidelity. She nodded to herself. It was just going to take time to rebuild his trust that he could talk to her without her throwing a fit, that the ‘Mr. Hyde’ version was gone for good.

* * *

September 14. Every day we’re not on shift, I worry about being alone with my wife. That’s not a good sign, is it? It’s not that I love her any less. I don’t. I love her more every day. Truly. She’s so amazing, it blows my mind that she ever gave a guy like me the time of day. But when we’re alone, and I piss her off, I can’t stop hearing the words that come out of her mouth. I know she’s just angry and moody from hormones, and she’s trying to hurt me because she wants to spread some of the misery. It’s not really Sylvie, not my Sylvie. I tell myself that every day. It’s not her. It’s not really her. She’s just sick, basically. It’s a rough patch. She doesn’t mean it; she’s just trying to hurt me. It’s her voice though. Her voice telling me that I’m fucking up my sons. That I’m a failure as a husband. That I’m unappreciative and insensitive and ungrateful and selfish. That she hates me. That one stings. I know it was just a sudden mood, a rage I guess, that she didn’t mean it. That when she calls me those things, she’s just trying to hurt me to reflect her own hurt and confusion and frustration fueled by hormones and life changes. I shouldn’t let it hurt me. It does. Like broken glass embedded beneath the skin, it just keeps aching.

Yesterday we celebrated our anniversary. It was a great night. I was happily surprised that Sylvie let Kelly and Stella come over to watch the boys. She’s been weird, the only person she’s left the boys with is Cindy. She hasn’t even agreed to leave them with me, yet. Kelly brought a present for Jack – an indoor toddler-friendly trampoline that he set up and Stella sent us video of Jack trying it out. Jack’s been a little jealous of the baby, regressing a little, and it was great of Kelly to get him something ‘big boys only’ even if 16 months is not exactly a big kid. Sylvie and I had a great dinner out. We talked about work and the boys and silly nothings I can’t even remember now, but we just talked. We even kissed a bit. Hell, I slept in the master bedroom with my wife for the first time in months. I felt like I’d had four or five whiskies instead of one. I mean, she refused to touch me beyond kissing, but after months without even that, it felt amazing and promising just to be invited to sleep next to her.

Had a bad night tonight. She was yelling about making the wrong dinner. I try to do everything I can to help. Laundry, all the meals I can, any time Jack needs something and I’m home, I take care of it. Sylvie cleans like a machine lately, so I don’t help much there, but I do what I can. I made eggplant parmesan, which she said was fine at lunch, I did check, I know to do that. I should have known her well enough to know to make chicken instead. About that time in her rant, I was tuning her out. I can’t listen to all of it and stay rational myself. She doesn’t mean any of it anyway, so I don’t need to really listen. At least that’s what I tell myself. Maybe I really am being an asshole by not listening, she says I am. She hit me with a rolling pin. Kidney shot and then glancing blow across my face. Glancing because I dodged and grabbed the thing from her. Two seconds later, she’s mad at me, but so much calmer, it was creepy. That’s new. She’s hit me before. Routinely the last couple weeks. Never with a tool before. I think I may need to call Cathy and Chuck. I need back-up. This isn’t Sylvie. I’m worried. Scared really. Not for me, I can take it, just for her because something is wrong, I think, really wrong. Maybe it’s my fault. She’s only like this with me. I have this effect on people. Mom. Dad. Christie. They all were apparently different people when not around me. Better people. Gabby. To everyone else, she was just kickass and caring about everyone and such a crusader, just a sensitive, wonderful, empathetic woman. She is those things. It was only with me that she was the way she was. I mean, she was always those things. She just, with me, she blew me off. I told myself it was because she trusted me to be there, whether or not she paid attention, it was a sign our relationship was trusting and healthy and strong, that she could take me for granted. I wasn’t important. I was furniture. It’s good to be reliable like that. Everyone trusts the sofa to be there. They also don’t worry about if the sofa wants more because sofas don’t have feelings. She said it was my fault when I tried to say I wanted to matter, she said that I had changed, stopped loving her or something. I thought she was projecting or deflecting. It couldn’t be my fault she treated me like I was inconvenient at best. I wasn’t responsible for her behavior. That’s what pop psychology tells us. Maybe I am. Is it possible I am actually a ruiner of people? Is ruiner a word? I’m dizzy, too dizzy to lay down to sleep. Tried to lay down, felt like I was gonna puke. My head hurts too much for any sort of screen that lights up. I’m so tired. I just keep coming back to the idea that I’m poisonous to people who try to love me. Funniest thing, all I want is to be able to talk it all out with Sylvie, because I know that she’s the one who could make me feel better. Because she’s my lighthouse on the sea. Right now, there’s no light, and the sea is stormy, and I’m tired. I’d really like to come into port. The port is closed. I’m not welcome. So, another night at sea in the guest room. How many months before I should just call it my room? Worse, how many before she realizes I’m completely useless in her life and I’m not welcome even in her house, not just her bedroom? It’s her house. I built it, or rebuilt it I guess, for her.

I wonder if I should call Dr. Johnson’s office. Not much of a blow to the head, gonna be a helluva bruise on my jaw that’s all, but Doc chewed me out last time I got hit in the head and waited the three months to my scheduled check-up to mention it. Plus the dizziness could mean a bit of a concussion. If it’s not better in a day or two, I’ll call. No need to make a big fuss. Dr. Johnson always makes a big deal out of every time I get a little bump.

* * *

She didn’t think she could bear to keep reading any longer. She’d known she’d hit him, but she knew better, even crazy hormonal her _had_ to know better than to hit Matt in the head, especially with something like a rolling pin. And he blamed himself, thought it was his fault, that he was poisonous, but he was anything but poison. It hurt that she had hurt him like that, but it also made his distance so much easier to understand. He wasn’t afraid of being hurt himself, well, probably a bit, but if he’d gotten the idea embedded in his head that he was hurting her, making her worse or something silly like that, he’d stay as far away from her as possible while still being around to support her and their sons. He’d probably say it was just like some of the more toxic chemicals he worked with (on either job) – they had purposes, specific roles to play, but you kept them safely stored away at all other times.

She waited until after dinner and the boys were down ‘for the night’. Jack was probably actually out for the entire night, but Alec was going to need two more feedings before he got his ‘big sleep’. He wasn’t as good of a sleeper as Jack had been, and was only at a nice four-hour stretch between his last meal at midnight and his breakfast at 4 am. Sylvie wasn’t sure that the exhaustion was helping her or Matt’s emotions or hormonal cycles. At least she was an old pro at pumping now, and right at the 5-week mark, Matt had started taking over some of Alec’s feedings. It was still breastmilk, with all its benefits, it just wasn’t coming directly from her breast because she had this thing about needing sleep. Anyway, she waited until she knew they had the house as much to themselves as they were likely to get for about 18 more years, and as they settled into the sofa to watch whatever Matt was turning on (she didn’t care, and she wasn’t about to fight with him about something as silly as a television show at this point), she decided to return to the tried-and-true method of being honest and forthright.

“Do you remember you asked me to think a little longer about you moving back into the master bedroom with me?”  
“I sort of assumed you had and-“ Matt replied carefully, without looking at her.

“I took plenty of extra time. Just to be sure. I think I’ve done enough kind of jerking you around and I wanted to be absolutely completely sure, like you asked, that I’m ready for all of it, even the ridiculous amount of body heat you give off while you sleep.” She continued before he could finish whatever conclusion he’d wrongly drawn. “I want you to come back to our bed in our room, Matt. If _you’re_ ready.”

“Why?”  
“We just had that conversation. I miss you. I miss my spot. I miss the cuddling and just a nice chance to sort of hang out at night, just us. Hell, I’d like to have sex again and that doesn’t seem very likely if you’re down the hall at night.”  
“Do you want to have sex, or do you want to have sex with me?”  
“Those aren’t different things.” Sylvie was confused by his oddly pointed question. “We’re married. The only sex I want is with you.”  
“Alright, I can-”

“Not right now!” Sylvie grabbed his hands, as he went to pull his shirt over his head. She hadn’t thought that out before she said it, clearly. “I mean, I want, I know you want, sex to be back on the table, you know? I’m not saying I want sex tonight. I want it to be _organic_. Sometime in the future.”

“Organic?” Matt shook his head. “Sex is hardly going to be organic, Sylvie, when you barely even touch me.”  
“What?”  
“Until about a week ago, you haven’t done more than touch my hand by accident when we’re passing one of the boys between us since Alec was born. I get it, you’ve explained it, that you’re just touched out, but,” Matt trailed off for a second, then continued, “I miss ‘us’ too. A lot. I know you think I miss the sex most, you’ve made that clear, but I miss…even more than sex, which yes, I miss a lot, I miss cuddling on the couch and sleeping – just sleeping – with you, and I missed kisses good morning and goodbye and goodnight, though at least those seem to be on the comeback lately. I miss all of it. More than the sex actually.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then a small smile crossed his face, a little sarcastic maybe, but a smile. “Maybe I’m getting old. I do still miss the sex. A lot.”

“I have to have touched you.” Sylvie was stuck on that. She knew affection had been limited for a relatively long time, but that seemed a bit excessive.  
“No offense, Syl, but I think my memory of the last six months is a bit better than yours right now.” Matt pointed out.

“But that would mean I hadn’t kissed you since…really? Not even one little kiss?”  
“You’re busy and overwhelmed and…yeah.” Matt shrugged. “That’s why I was so shocked the other day. I miss my _wife_ , Sylvie. I feel like we’re roommates, which it seems like you do, too. I just know that you’re…you don’t exactly have the time or energy to coddle my sensitive little feelings.”  
“I’m going to guess those were Greg Casey’s words that just came out of your mouth right now.” Sylvie almost bit out, because lots of things had changed, but some things hadn’t and she still hated the way he sometimes talked about himself, like he was just cutting himself down in his own mind and heart all the time, it pissed her off and broke her heart at the same time. He had this stupid hateful little internal monologue that told him he didn’t matter, he wasn’t to bother anyone with his needs, that he wasn’t worth anyone’s inconvenience. He wasn’t entirely a martyr, he’d speak up for himself just fine in most settings, professional settings, but in his personal relationships he just seemed perpetually to think if he really asked for anything he’d get kicked out.

“Actually,” this time Matt’s little half-grin was definitely more sarcastic than genuine, “that was Christie. A few weeks ago, she was asking how you were doing with the new baby, and I was my usual selfish asshole self and made it about me, that I missed feeling like your husband. She reminded me that I’m a bit-player in this whole thing right now, and you were busy with two boys, you didn’t need a third acting like a toddler.”  
“Matt, why didn’t you live with Christie after your dad died?” She asked suddenly, having wondered about it for years, but okay, it was random enough to maybe deserve that look on his face.

“What?” The sudden change in topic apparently tripped him up.   
“I’ve been wondering for years, and Christie was twenty when it happened, she was old enough to be your legal guardian. Anyone over eighteen can do it, pretty much.”  
“She was asked.” Matt looked down for a moment. “She never said anything to me, I found out from my social worker. I was in a short-term place, emergency placement, right after Mom was arrested. She came back for the funeral, we spoke there, about…I don’t actually remember, and she went back to college, to finish out the semester. I think she made the Dean’s List again that term. I don’t know how, I was wrecked.” Matt sounded impressed. “She was always smarter than me, though, and a much better student, so I guess she managed, but I think I failed everything for about five months. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything, the only thing that made sense was sports and I was changing schools or homes so often I couldn’t really do those formally. School was never…and after, well, let’s just say I was one of those kids that the counselors were just happy to see graduate. No college or career counseling for me, just get him a diploma and count that as a major win.” Matt shrugged. “I’m hoping our boys got your brains, not mine.”

“But she was asked, about being your guardian.” Sylvie insisted, staying on topic and refusing to get distracted by the story about his high school years (though she logged it, she didn’t ignore it, she just wasn’t going to deal with it tonight).  
“My social worker contacted her I guess in March, when my mom’s friend Carolyn got transferred to London. She couldn’t take me out of the country, so I got sent through the system. Christie was away at college. She would’ve had to transfer to someplace in Chicago for her last two years.” Matt paused. “Mrs. Leahy, my social worker, she said it was that, the college thing, trying to be nice to me, but I’ve always known the truth. Christie’s always hated me for not abandoning Mom after she shot Dad, and then I testified at Mom’s trial, and it came out it was my fault, and there was no way Christie was ever going to do anything for me after that. She didn’t talk to me for four years – I guess getting married made her think about family or something, she started talking to me again when she was planning her wedding. I was surprised I was even invited. Honestly, we barely spoke until after Mom got parole and even now, we’re not exactly close. Anyway, I can’t blame her. She had to take care of herself, her mental health and her career and things before she worried about me.”  
“Why? You’re her brother, Matt. I would’ve dropped out in a second if Leo had…I never could’ve left him with strangers.” It was the complete and utter truth. The very idea of having left a teenage, traumatized, Leo with strangers made her skin crawl.  
“Well, you love your brother, and Leo’s not responsible for your dad’s death so there’s that.”  
“Matt, you’re not responsible either.” She was afraid to touch his implication that his sister didn’t love him. It was also another topic she was not going to get bogged down in tonight.  
“I should’ve been more careful about the keys. I just didn’t, both my parents had tempers, but nothing, I didn’t think, anything like that. Shouting on the phone at 2 am I was used to. Gunshots at 3 am? Unexpected result.” Matt shook his head. “Christie was so young, too, Sylvie, she was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have expected her to put her entire life on hold to…well, take care of me. I was sixteen, old enough to take care of myself. And I did. I learned to be self-reliant.”  
“You think she’d say the same about Violet? She’s seventeen. If something happened to Jim and Christie, would you leave Violet in foster-“  
“Of course not. I’d do anything for her.” Matt cut her off. “I’m not twenty years old, Syl. I’m forty-one, and in a place in my life where taking in a teenager wouldn’t be life-altering, or even…I would’ve _ruined_ her life, Syl. I was such a shit. I understand Christie’s decisions, I always have.”  
“I don’t, and I never have, and I never will.” Sylvie admitted.

“I thought you liked Christie.”  
“I do.” Sylvie shrugged. “That’s the hard part, I do like her, she’s a pretty cool sister-in-law, and you know I love Violet, and being ‘Aunt Sylvie’. But then she says stuff to you like I don’t have time to coddle your sensitive little feelings and all I can think is she’s a pretty crappy sister. Shouldn’t she be on your side, or something?”  
“She’s been a new mom is all. And she _is_ on my side, helping me get used to this whole…functional marriage thing.” Matt smiled tightly. “I forget my place sometimes-”  
“What place is that?”  
“Foundation.” He replied immediately. “Solid, boring, dependable, strong – and quiet. No one is supposed to notice it.”  
“You are an incredible father, Matt. You are a fantastic husband.” She paused, seeing him blush and look away, completely unable to meet her eyes now. He was so uncomfortable with compliments of any kind, he always tried to shift the attention and compliments onto someone else. “I haven’t said it, or shown you, enough in the last…well, the last year, really, and I feel so awful about how it’s been especially since Alec was born. I mean, I love you, I see you every day, but I don’t…I don’t really ask how you are, or what you need. I’ve been taking you for granted. I promised myself, and you, that I wouldn’t do that.”  
“It’s okay. I kind of like being taken for granted.” Matt shrugged a little. “If you’re not really noticing me, I don’t…I can’t piss you off if you don’t really see me.”  
“I’m sorry about the…the mood swings and stuff, too. I know it was awful. I can’t even remember the really bad ones, but I know I must’ve been awful.”  
“You were sick, that’s all.” Matt met her eyes now, trying to reassure her. Now that it was about her, more than him, he was fine with eye contact. Typical. “I don’t mind, Sylvie. I’d do anything for you and those boys, you know that.”  
“I, uh, well, I guess I’m worried that all of this has torn a hole in the fabric of our marriage, Matt. I’m worried that we’ve let there be too much distance – and I know you hate distance – and if we don’t work on closing the gap now, it’ll just get bigger.”  
“I’m worried about that, too.”  
“Okay, good, agreement on wanting to work on closing the gap.” Sylvie nodded. That was definitely progress, and reassuring. “So, I’ve already said what I need from you, but-“  
“No, you haven’t.” Matt interrupted.  
“I just did.”  
“No, you said what you thought I need – you think I need sex back on the table, right?”  
“No, that’s what ** _I_** need. Though I admit I figured it was on the list for you, too.”

“What else do you need then?”  
“From you?”  
“Yes. What can I do?”  
“Uh…move back into the master bedroom.” Sylvie paused, quickly thinking through any other things she really wanted from him right now. “Work less – I know about the finances, but it feels like we hardly see you, Matt, and I think it’s part of why Jack has gotten to be such a jealous terror if any other kid gets much of your attention at the park or Herrmanns or anywhere really. And I need us to talk more. It seems like we give reports on our sons, but we don’t really talk anymore. I can’t remember the last time you told me about a project, or even just a call from work that I didn’t go on, or…God, how the White Sox did.”  
“It’s October, trust me, the White Sox are not playing at this point. Wish they were.” Matt pointed out, a tiny smile peeking out on his face.

“I knew that. The Blackhawks then, or the Bulls, or…anything. The Bears are still playing. Whatever. I don’t actually care about the sports that much, but you do, and you used to talk to me about it.” She paused, and decided blunt honesty was pretty much their credo, so time for a helping of it now. “And I need you to talk to me about what _you_ need, Matt. I can’t keep feeling like a failure of a wife because I-“  
“Fuck, Sylvie, no.” Matt nearly pulled her into his chest, she could see him cut himself off. He seemed torn for a moment. “Can I hug you?”  
“What?”  
“Can I hug you, hold you? I need to…I can’t…you’re crying, and I need to…” He gestured sort of vaguely, and she realized that she was in fact crying and that he was practically vibrating with the strain of not pulling her into his chest like he had always done, before the last several months anyway.

“Oh, yes, sure, go ahead. I could use a hug.” Matt let out what sounded like a massive whoosh of relieved breath and she was glad she took a deep breath herself because she was just about crushed against his chest now.

“You’re a beautiful, strong, brave, amazing woman, Sylvie, and I couldn’t imagine a more fantastic or more loving mother. You are doing such a great job with everything. You’ve got this, babe, truly.” Matt said softly to her, kissing the top of her head in that way of his that made her feel safe, and loved, and valued, and protected. She sniffled a little.

“I’m doing okay with the boys-“  
“You are doing fantastically with the boys. Both of them.”  
“Okay, I’m doing fantastically with my little boys, but I feel like I’m hurting my first, biggest, boy. You.”  
“Not anymore.” Matt reassured her, and she felt better for about thirty seconds, until she actually processed that.

“Not anymore? So I did, before?”  
“I…I don’t want to make demands on you. You’re already so…you do so much, and I love you so much for all you do for me and my sons, our sons, I just…”  
“You just what?”  
“I’m not saying I need sex, though I do miss it. If you never want sex again, though, I’ll live with that. It’s surprisingly easy once you just go entirely without for a few months, like I’m through withdrawal and…yeah, anyway, I just need you to touch me sometimes. Not often.” He hedged, still keeping her pressed to his chest and she didn’t try to pull away because he did better with confessions if he didn’t have to meet her eyes. “But I can’t change what I am, and I’m a hugger, I guess, that’s what Andy always said. Dr. Sandlin said, my last appointment, when I said I was going to put therapy on pause for a year or so, she said to make sure I communicated my needs with you so I don’t get into any big holes. And you’re doing better, so I can say this now, you’re not a failure at all, you’re doing fine as a wife, I promise you. I’m just a needy shit, okay? It’s not you, it’s me. But I, Sylvie, I need you to let me hold you sometimes, so I can sort of fill up my tank of physical affection. Not sex, just like this, maybe if it’s okay, some kissing. I know you’re touched out, with the boys always all over you, and it’s not like work is exactly a restful break from other people’s needs, but maybe, I think I can be okay at once a month.”

“Once a month?”  
“Every six weeks?” Matt tried, and she realized he thought this was a negotiation. He was _negotiating_ for a hug. Once a month. He hadn’t said anything for most of a year, typical Matt, and now all his words came out in a flood and she had nearly missed the key bit – her husband was so starved for her time and affection he was negotiating, practically begging, to be able to hold her once a month, or he’d take every six weeks. “I mean, the boys like cuddling, I can probably-“  
“Matt.” She couldn’t help it, she started sobbing, turning her face into the perfect shape of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, forget it. I’m fine, it’s fine, we’re all fine, Sylvie, please.” Matt held her tighter, as she cried into his shoulder and she almost burrowed into him, the sheer comfort of him, even when she should be comforting him. “Forget it, I don’t need anything, except for you and my boys to be happy and safe and healthy. That’s it. I can deal with anything else. You just be happy, that’s all I need. Shh. Please. It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I love you, so much, and I love the sons you’ve given me, I love them beyond all reasoning, and I…I’m so grateful, I am, I don’t need anything else, just our boys.”  
“Matt.” She managed to pull herself together a bit. She shifted in his arms, and he took the cue to let her go. She pulled back just enough to caress his jaw lightly and encourage him to meet her eyes. “I’m not crying because you’re asking too much of me. I’m crying because I did this to you-“  
“You didn’t do anything-“  
“I pulled away. I withdrew affection, just like…just like other people have.” She would not compare herself to Gabby, she wouldn’t. She had fought too hard to get that ghost out of their relationship, or at least as out as Matt was capable of kicking his demons, anyway. She had a momentary thought of what Gabby Dawson would say about being called a demon but shook it off as unimportant.

“You’re just struggling with everything, it wasn’t intentional, and just forget what I said, I’m fine, I’ll be fine, it’s nothing.”  
“You’re _not_ fine, and I want you to tell me when you’re not fine, Matt.” She paused. “Matt, if I told you that I needed you to say ‘I love you, Sylvie’ twice a day, every day, would you do it?”  
“Of course I would.”  
“Even if you had to call from shift and talk about your feelings in front of every guy in the firehouse?” It wasn’t quite Matt’s nightmare scenario, but for all that he was very physically affectionate, saying the words came hard to Matt, and given an audience he became even more taciturn.  
“Of course I would.” He didn’t hesitate for a second, but just the thought of it brought a slight blush to his face. “Sylvie, my whole purpose in life is to take care of you and our boys. That’s it. Whatever any of you need, you’ll have. I’ll make sure of it.”  
“Right. And we’re _partners_ , right? So that means it’s my purpose to take care of you and our boys. Not just our boys. And I fucked up on taking care of you. Maybe it’s not my fault,” She allowed that, to cut off his immediate protest, “but I dropped the ball, and it breaks my heart to hear you asking for the chance to hold me – not even for me to hold you – just once a month so you can get a, a, a tank refill or whatever, on the tank of love that you pour out so generously to everyone around you, at work and especially here at home, and Matt, I just…I love you more than I think you know, and I wish I could make you feel what I feel for you, so you’d know, really know, even when I get all whatever like I have been, these stupid hormones, and Matt, you shouldn’t have to beg for affection or attention. You deserve more than that, better than that.”  
“No, I don’t.” Matt shook his head. “I’m not nearly as great as you seem to think, but I am flattered. I’m glad you’re not too disappointed in the husband you ended up with.”  
“I am the opposite of disappointed. I am incredibly proud, actually kind of conceited, about the husband I’ve got.” Sylvie kissed him lightly. “Any time you need a hug, or a kiss, Matt, just tell me. Even if I can’t right then, for whatever reason, I’ll remember, and we’ll make an appointment.”  
“I thought you wanted ‘organic’.”  
“Fuck organic. We’ll make an appointment if we have to, schedule sex if we have to, we can worry about romance later, but let’s get everyone’s physical and psychological and emotional needs taken care of, first.” She paused, then in a softer voice, continued, “Matt, why didn’t you say anything sooner? You can’t have been happy.”  
“Define happy.” Matt hedged. “I’m…Sylvie, I’ve never been so happy as I am with you and my boys. I come home, and you’re all here, and Jack comes running over to me, wanting a hug, and he’s so happy just to see me, and you’re holding Alec and it’s every dream I ever had. You’ve given me _everything_ I ever wanted, babe. How could I be anything other than happy?”  
“But what about…I mean, we have no sex life, apparently I’ve barely even touched you in like eight months, and I know how tactile you are. And I've hurt you, way too much, I mean, I hit you, Matt. You can't be happy living with that.”  
“Well, that part hasn’t been great. And yeah, I miss, well, I miss all of it. But I’m not _unhappy_ , Sylvie. I have no regrets. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than right here with you, no matter what, for the rest of my life.”

She couldn’t help it. She abandoned the soft gentle kisses that she’d been sticking with lately, nervous about making him nervous, and she practically lunged at him, pulling him into a heavy kiss because saying things like that after everything they’d been through, if that didn’t get a man’s face kissed off, well, what would?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realize that Matt is not really coping in a particularly healthy way, but it's a very Matt Casey way that makes sense to him and the products of abusive homes are often maladjusted in some ways (if not quite a few ways). There will be more discussions, even repercussions, as the story goes on, including some serious guilt feelings from Sylvie and some resultant 'indulging' of Matt in various ways. Matt may be willing to let Sylvie off the hook, but she is not so willing to let herself off the hook.


	8. Control and Consent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be some delays for a few days - I live in Texas and well, Texas cannot keep the power on to large numbers of its residents currently. Welcome to the real America. Electricity out because "weatherization costs money". Better to leave people without heat in single-digit (Fahrenheit) temperatures. There's a lot to be said about Illinois and Chicago politics, but at least they keep the power on in far worse conditions than these. 
> 
> Anyway, this does not have the usual read-throughs as I have limited internet access but wanted to get a chapter up, so please forgive mistakes. Hopefully by the end of the week I'll be back on regular schedules with reliable electricity and internet (and heat).

Maybe someone else would’ve started to reconsider the decision to finish reading his therapy journal after the progress of the last few days, but Sylvie actually considered it proof that her strategy was working. If Matt wasn’t talking to her, he was at least (or had been) talking to his journal and she could use that as a map to the biggest issues and landmines that needed to be dealt with. Once she got to today, or at least the period when they started really having conversations again, she’d stop. Let him have his privacy again. She wasn’t going to go back and read any of the past entries, either. But this stuff, she needed to know it. Even if she always had to brace herself, emotionally, for whatever Matt had been thinking. She had known a lot of stoic men in her life, but her husband exceeded normal definitions of stoic.

* * *

September 18. Sylvie was reading the Velveteen Rabbit to Jack and Alec at Jack’s bedtime. I sit in on storytime, but not in the bed at the moment. Sylvie says the smell of me is awful. I changed to completely unscented everything, soap, shampoo, shaving cream, laundry detergent, everything. It’s me. I disgust her. It’s been months now, but it’s not much easier to live with still. She was reading tonight and I remembered why I used to reread and reread that story. It’s a sweet message, I guess. I just remember reading it when I was a kid, wondering when I’d be ‘real’, just waiting for that day, when someone would love the stuffing out of me. Some days, I feel like I’m still waiting to be Real. Except I’m the age of the skinhorse by now and just as shabby looking, and still not Real. I think you know when you become Real. My boys might yet make me Real. They’ll grow out of thinking I’m fantastic, but once I’m Real, it’s permanent. At least, so the author of a kids’ book says. Probably stupid to let a silly kids’ book mean so much. Still pissing blood from a few nights ago. Dizzy went away at least, didn’t have to call Dr. Johnson.

I talked to Cathy last night. She is going to come up and stay for a little while, see if she notices anything. I tried not to say too much. I don’t want to bias her. I also know Sylvie is her daughter. Cathy is always Team Sylvie. So am I. But if I seem like I’m not, any bit of like Cathy has for me will go away in a second. Makes me wonder what Mom sees when she looks at me. Why doesn’t she look at me like Cathy looks at Sylvie? What did I fuck up? Can it change, did she look at me like that, before? I don’t remember. Could it happen that someday I’ll look at Jack or Alec with that expression Mom has for me, that hurt, disappointed, betrayed, look that says she wonders what she ever did to deserve a son as shitty as me? No, it couldn’t. They’re both half Sylvie. Hopefully the genetic lottery was on their side and they got a lot more than half their genes from her. They’ll be better than me. They are better than me. But God, they may yet make me Real. I wonder if it feels different to be Real. To know you’re loved like that, with that depth, and that permanence. I wonder if I’m too messed up to love someone else into Real. God, I hope Sylvie knows how much I love her, that I’ve been able to make her Real. I bet her parents already did, though, they love her so much, for obvious reasons, who could do anything but love Sylvie?

* * *

She was crying and she didn’t even bother trying to brush the tears from her cheeks. Worse than the tears was the fear that came from feeling completely lost about how to help him. She could do her best to heal the fractures in their relationship, patch up any holes in the fabric of their marriage, but she was scared that there was nothing she could really do to fix the other relationships in his life, the gaping holes in Matt’s heart left by careless people in his past who had taken from him and given too little back. How could she fix that much damage? How could she convince him he was amazing and beautiful, inside and out, when he looked into the mirror and there was some sort of alternate universe he saw reflected back – a version of himself that was unloved and unwanted and had gone too long too often without apparently any sort of affection, let alone love? How could she fix that he saw someone inherently unlikable, so much so that he was perpetually surprised when people liked him? Even his own guys, she knew he knew that the guys at the firehouse respected him, but he was blind to how much they liked and even loved him, the amount of loyalty they had for him. Hell, she was pretty sure that Herrmann would run into hell itself with just one of the hoses from 51 to defend Matt, and then there was Kelly, and it didn’t help her fear right now to know that Kelly would quite possibly literally kill to protect Matt, but Matt couldn’t see that. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t see, he _couldn’t_ see what everyone else saw in him. She was scared that no matter how much she loved him, and he said he knew she did, she could never fill in the holes left by too many other people who should’ve taken greater care with the sensitive sweet heart that had been presented to them. She felt completely unequipped to handle this level of mess. It renewed her determination to get him, hell both of them, back into therapy as soon as she could possibly convince him that the cost was worth it. He was worth it.

* * *

September 22. Cathy got up here three days ago, planning to stay for two weeks. Sylvie has an appointment with her doctor today. That’s where they’re at. Moms work miracles. Two days and Sylvie is finally listening, she called to get the appointment yesterday. Something is wrong. She isn’t herself. She’s not sleeping enough. Okay, that’s hypocritical, but I’ve been an occasional insomniac since Dad was killed. It’s normal for me, mostly because of the cycles of nightmares. Not for her. Cathy didn’t say much to me. She’s spending most of her time with Sylvie. There’s some tension between her and Sylvie though and that bothers me. I should have handled it myself. I’m a man, I carry my own weight. I hate that Cathy heard and saw that fight, saw Sylvie hit me like that; I know it hurt her to see her daughter act so unlike herself. But if Sylvie gets better, it’s worth it. They’ll fix the tension at some point. They love each other so much. I hope when our boys are in their thirties we’re as close as a family as the Bretts. Christie has never needed me much. She wanted me even less than that. I think I embarrass her. She married Jim and has been in a very different class than me all her adult life. I mean, Violet goes to a school that costs 40k a year. Those type of kids don’t have uncles who are grunts like me.

For some reason, Violet thinks I’m cool, though. She asked if they can have another Halloween party here this year. They’re seniors. I asked her if she was sure there wasn’t something more ‘fun’ they could do than hang out at a house with two babies in it. She insisted that Sadie, Maddie, Anna, and Chloe all agreed that another sleepover here would be awesome. I noted that Brooklyn was not included. Maddie broke up with that Josh kid that came over last year, Violet assured me. I have to speak to Sylvie about it. I’m inclined to let the girls. If Sylvie’s feeling better anyway. Violet says she wants to babysit, she never gets to see her cousins. I don’t invite people over much. I don’t know why. Sylvie is fine with everyone except me. I guess I’m worried I’ll screw up when someone is over and they’ll get to hear about how shit of a husband and father I am, like Cathy did. I still remember how it felt when Gabby would say something in front of people. It’s bad enough to hear criticism. Knowing someone else heard it and agreed with it made it worse. I hated fighting with Gabby, not just for her sake, our sake, but everyone at work was on her side, and it was hard to hear ‘you’re wrong and you’re selfish and she’s right you don’t matter’ from everyone else who knew us. I can deal with being wrong, and I know I’m selfish, but I want to matter sometimes. Dr. Sandlin thinks it’s why I ended up a firefighter. What I do matters, even if I don’t. Another guy could do it, I’m not special, but when I help someone out, it’s like I managed to leave my tiny mark on the world again. I can’t make myself important, to anyone, but I can do important things, small things, but important. Randomly thought today about the little girl I saved from that apartment fire, the night the beam fell and cracked my skull. She must be eight or nine now. I don’t remember any of it. For five minutes or so, I was important, at least to her and her family. It’s horribly selfish but I wonder if they ever wonder about me, like I wonder about her. I wonder if they even know I nearly died. Nearly had to retire. I wonder if they ever even knew my name. It’s selfish to make it about me. It’s never about me. I don’t even like when things are about me. So I want to matter, but I know I shouldn’t, and I know I don’t, but I can’t get rid of that selfish part of me. Most of the time, I focus on just knowing that because I was there that night, that girl is out in the world alive and well. I have a pretty damn awesome job.

* * *

Sylvie actually did remember that fight, probably because it led to another one with her mother. She remembered not-quite-yelling at Matt about something to do with the laundry, probably his aggravating habit of washing her cotton underwear with all the rest of the clothes not on a gentle cycle with other delicates. Just because his boxers could be washed with jeans did not mean her cotton underwear should be, but he just could not seem to get that through his head for some reason. It was a silly thing to fight over, but it had sent her over the edge that night. Matt’s words didn’t entirely do it justice. She’d slapped him several times in a row for some reason, Sylvie couldn’t remember why now, and that’s when Mom stepped in and sent Matt for a run. Matt had looked relieved, Sylvie remembered with a start, he must’ve known then that Mom would be able to do what he hadn’t and get Sylvie to see something was wrong beyond an extended ‘baby blues’ period. While Matt was gone, Mom had basically forced her into calling her doctor and getting an appointment as soon as possible, after a very long speech about how shocked and appalled she was to see Sylvie treat Matt that way. She’d felt an inch tall by the time Mom was done, having cycled through denial and anger during Mom’s speech, and frankly, she still felt a little bit of tension with Mom now. Mom had finally convinced her with one question: how did Sylvie feel watching anyone else hit Matt? Sylvie had felt anger surge through her at the very thought of it, how much she would gladly eviscerate anyone who hurt him, and then realized she was the one doing that, and for some reason, Mom seeing it, calling her on it, had cut through all the denial she’d been in and she called Dr. Preston’s answering service right away.

* * *

September 22b. We have a diagnosis, well, something. Sylvie’s brain chemistry is messed up. So the doctor prescribed meds for her, just for a while, until her chemistry gets itself back around to normal. It’s supposed to take at least two weeks for her to get the meds built up enough to start noticing the effect. So Cathy says. Sylvie didn’t want me at the appointment. She cuts me out of a lot right now. I guess I can understand. It’s my fault she’s in this situation. Sometimes, I feel like there’s something rotten in me, like a core of just rotted wood, or a wrongly charged magnet, something that just puts crap out in the world around me, polluting everyone. I’d cut it out if I just knew where it was. What’s wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about me? Sylvie. It’s about Sylvie and the boys. Every morning I remind myself that I don’t matter. They matter. Then every night Jack runs to me, arms open, yelling Daddy, and wanting me to hold him and I don’t even have to work at it – that moment, that’s what matters. Everything else will get better. He reminds me every day what Sylvie and I have, it’s absolutely worth the occasional rough patch. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.

September 25. Cathy says she’s staying the full two weeks, so Sylvie can build up the meds in her system. I feel bad for Chuck. I’ve sort of kidnapped his wife. I’m also grateful. Sylvie’s off work again for a couple weeks. We had to report her new meds to CFD, in case of random (or not) drug tests. It’s good that her mom’s here, so she’s not just sitting around at home frustrated that she’s not on shift, on the days I’m on shift. Jack loves having his grandma here, too. If Alec was older than 8 weeks, he’d be excited too. Jack had been a fantastic sleeper, Alec is a little less cooperative and hasn’t slept more than 4 hours in a row yet. Sylvie will pump and let Cathy take one of the night-time feedings, which is good. I was doing it, but Sylvie says she worries I’m not getting enough sleep. I kind of miss doing the feeding, but Sylvie was so genuine when she said she was worried, and it’s so nice having her act like herself again – okay, a little irrational, I’ve gotten by on a lot less sleep than this for pretty long periods of time – that I can’t complain. She certainly doesn’t need to add worrying about me to everything else she’s dealing with. I carry my own weight.

* * *

Sylvie wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that last line, but then she was thrown by the whole thing, the last couple entries, which bounced between what read like his own deep depression and good-humored relief and easy acceptance. If nothing else, though, it gave her something to talk to Matt about, later tonight.

“Matt? I don’t want you to freak out about hearing your least favorite words, but can we talk?” She asked, already in their bed, which was theirs again finally, not just hers, as he was finishing up getting ready for bed himself.  
“Of course.” Matt was smiling a little as he stepped back into the bedroom from the bathroom, a loose pair of boxers clinging to his hips just barely, and she idly noted that he had lost more weight. If he’d been lean before, he was now closer to skinny, muscles still obvious but talk about not having a spare ounce on him. He sat down on the bed next to her, facing her. “What’s up, Sylvie?”  
“I’m worried about you.”  
“About me? I’m fine, no injuries lately, and I’m sleeping more, like you wanted, so what’re you worried about?”  
“I’m not worried about you physically.” Sylvie stopped, thinking for a second, “I always sort of am, because you have a dangerous job and I know you’re careful but you’re also almost unspeakably brave, but that’s not what I’m worried about mostly right now.”  
“Sylvie, I’m extremely careful these days. I have way too much to lose if something happens.”

“Well, your definition of careful and mine aren’t always the exact same, and I have two boys in this house who need you,” she nodded to Alec, asleep in his bassinet, “and that doesn’t even touch on how much ** _I_** need you.”  
“Are you asking me to…change jobs?” Matt asked, tone very obviously careful.

“No!” She shook her head quickly. “I know how important it is to you, and you’re fantastic at it, I mean, you’re a great contractor, too, but I know what being a firefighter means to you, Matt. I just can’t say enough, please, be somewhere beyond careful. Please.”  
“What brought this on? We haven’t even had a really bad call in weeks.”

“Well, it started out as the ways I’m worried about you. And physically isn’t the major one. I’m worried that you’re, I guess, feeling underappreciated or just kind of neglected. It feels like maybe I’ve been ignoring you for way too long. And you don’t have Dr. Sandlin to talk things over with, which makes me a little nervous.”  
“I survived almost forty years without a therapist, Syl. I’ll be fine.”  
“I don’t want ‘fine’ for you, I want you to be _awesome_.” Sylvie replied swiftly and Matt actually laughed at her, the jerk. She swung his pillow at him, smacking his head and shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but Sylvie, it’s not…things aren’t perfect lately, I think we both agree on that. That’s temporary though. We can, no, we _are_ fixing things. And you want to know what my awesome looks like? It looks like about an hour ago, when I was reading the same bedtime story I’ve read a hundred times to Jack, and you were feeding Alec, all here in this bed, my bed, in my house, with my family, that is my awesome, Sylvie.”  
“But it has been such a hard time for us-“  
“And we’ll have others. Hopefully not just like this, but other hard times. And just like this one, we’ll get up, dust ourselves off, get help when we need it, and get right back here, to our home and our family.” Matt paused, clearly checking her eyes for something. “Unless…are you not happy or something? Did I screw something up again?”  
“See? That. That is what has me worried.”  
“What?”  
“You automatically assume, even after everything, how irrational and ridiculous I’ve been, you assume you screwed up.”  
“I usually do.” Matt shrugged.

“Well, this time **_I_** did. You have been fantastic. Mind-blowingly supportive and forgiving and just the most amazing husband and the greatest daddy ever.” He blushed deeply and looked away from her. She reached up, her hand cupping his jaw softly. “You never seem to believe me when I say nice things, but you believe me when I say mean things. Don’t you?”  
“I’m not really used to…to compliments.” Matt admitted, still not meeting her eyes.

“Then I need to work on complimenting you more. You deserve so many compliments, Matt. Truly. You do so much for me, and our sons, and everyone around you, and I know you don’t like a ‘fuss’ or much attention, but you are so important to so many people. You’re also incredibly handsome, but you never believe that either.” She lightened the tone a little, not wanting to make him too uncomfortable.  
“Eh.” He shrugged, making some sort of uncertain noise more than a real response. She shook her head and pulled him into a deep kiss. His surprise worked in her favor, his mouth opened, and she swept her tongue inside, twining hers around his. Eventually, she had to breathe, and released his mouth. He looked still a bit shocked, but also familiarly turned on, his pupils blown and desire practically vibrating out of him.

“I know I don’t say it enough, we just don’t compliment men enough in society, but you are so handsome, and so beautiful – inside and out – and I could not have a better husband. You’re also all sexy, sitting there in just a pair of boxers, and that little trail of hair down tempting me….” She teased him a little, her fingers on her right hand barely touching his treasure trail, mostly just circling around his navel, occasionally drifting lower for just a split second. She looked up, meeting his eyes directly. “I love you, Matt Casey, and-“

Sylvie didn’t get to finish what she wanted to say, to tell him how much she wanted him, as he kissed her, hard and fast and now it was his tongue in her mouth. She sucked on the invader, hearing and feeling him growl, and she happily got lost in the sort of kisses that she’d missed lately, like they were trying to fuse together at the mouth. Instinctually, she moved towards him, straddling his legs as best she could, pressing her t-shirt clad tits against his bare chest, arms wrapping around him to keep him tight against her. She wasn’t even sure how it happened, but Matt ended up on his back across the bed, her over him, her hands roaming over all the parts of him she could reach, and his left hand latched to her ass, guiding her movements against him, as his right hand roved all over her body. She was thrusting against the tent being pitched in his boxers, feeling his big hard cock beneath her and it combined with the seam of her pajama shorts to create the most wonderful friction against certain parts of her, and she chased her pleasure, feeling him underneath her again, a little mindless with desire and arousal. She groaned or growled, something, with displeasure when her hips wouldn’t move, it took her a minute to realize Matt was gripping her hips on both sides, holding her still. His strength only turned her on more, and she slid her tongue along his jaw to that spot on his neck she knew and loved, right at the base, and she bit down, maybe harder than she really should have, but his head went back, stretching his neck out farther, and she did it again, liking the way his hips bucked beneath hers, just a split second of the friction she wanted, but then his grip tightened again.

“Sylvie, wait.” She felt the vibrations of his voice through his throat, as well as hearing them, and even though she could hear desperate arousal in his tone, she pulled back because ‘wait’ always meant ‘pull up for a sec’. She sat up a bit, so she could see his face meet his eyes.

“Matt?”  
“Not…I love you, but…I’m not…I’m ready, but I’m not sure.” Matt’s eyes and words were earnest, but his body shifted beneath her and she could feel how hard he was.

“You’re definitely ready, and believe me, I’m soaking wet and ready for you, baby.” She did her best to grind a little against him.  
“Fuck me.” His grip loosened, as he wriggled a little beneath her again.  
“That is the idea.” She grinned at him, enjoying not just the physical feelings but also the return of all the other feelings associated with wanting him, with having him like this.  
“No, Sylvie, stop.”

“Stop?” She went completely still, not sure she’d ever actually heard him say ‘stop’ like that before. Still, there was no mistaking that as anything other than a red light and she was not about to push him.  
“I can’t. Not tonight.” Matt stated firmly, but also clearly reluctantly.   
“You feel like you can.” She couldn't help pointing out.   
“My dick would love nothing more than…yeah, _most_ of me would love nothing more than to do this tonight. But my conscience can’t…we need to wait.”  
“Why?”  
“Three more days.”  
“Three days. That’s very precise.”  
“That’s when your new meds will have hit full effectiveness, absolutely no doubt full effectiveness, and I can be sure.”  
“Sure of what?”  
“That this isn’t a mood or a phase or a fleeting whatever, that you really want me.”  
“Trust me, I really want you-“  
“Sylvie, please. I need to know you’re…you’re making this decision unaltered in any way. Not just for you, but for me. I can’t do _this_ until I know. Okay?”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”  
“Good. Then in three nights, we can be back here just like this. And tomorrow is shift, so that’s an easy night to avoid temptation since you sleep in a whole different room than I do.” Matt smiled gently up at her.

“Fine, we wait. But just so you know, I’m going to ride you so hard you’ll explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July, Matt Casey. And you are going to lay in this bed and take it, because I have lots and lots of plans for every single part of you.”  
“Fuck, that mouth on you.” Matt groaned, but he was grinning, and as disappointed as she was, Sylvie still took that as wonderful progress back towards normality.

“If I can’t fuck you, can I at least go back to making out with you?” She asked with a smile, hoping he didn’t think she was upset. She was a little disappointed, but not upset. At this point, she would give him anything he asked for, both to encourage him to ask for what he needed but also because the least, very least, she owed him was to let him have some control. Matt just smiled, and pulled her into another kiss. Apparently he approved of that idea, at least. 


	9. Got Scited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow - I think Chapter 8 is the first chapter I've written since early in the very first story that did not garner a single comment. I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but here's Chapter 9. Delays may continue, as I got very little writing done this week given the ongoing (but now improving) situation in Texas. I will try to get back to daily or every-other-day posting, though. 
> 
> This is also the last chapter to use the flashbacks/Matt's therapy journal entries: it shifts to a linear timeline after this chapter, though of course discussion of and ramifications of past events will continue.

For the first time since she’d really started reading his journal, Sylvie had second, third, even fourth thoughts about continuing to do so. It seemed like they had made a lot of great progress, and Matt was talking to her again, and if it wasn’t strictly necessary, she should let him have his privacy. After all, his journal was his place to vent and she didn’t have his permission to read it, and maybe he wouldn’t like it. Matt was a very private man in some ways. But, she was nearly caught up, and she’d catch up to today, or maybe a few days ago when they really started talking again, and she’d stop reading. She nodded to herself, making that internal promise, that she’d only read the last few entries, through early October, and stop. That was after the crisis and he deserved privacy, once the crisis was over. So, today was the last day she’d settle into the guestroom bed and read during naptime.

* * *

September 29. Awkward conversation with Cathy a few minutes ago. She’s known since before Alec was born that I don’t sleep in the master anymore. She sat Sylvie and I both down and insisted I move back into the master. She says it’s only going to make the distance between us worse. I agree but she’s not the one whose wife is disgusted by him, who flinches from his touch, who basically wants nothing to do with him. Sylvie’s face said it all. She doesn’t want me in there. I can’t force it. I won’t. I’ve never, ever, put myself into any woman’s bed who didn’t 100% want me there. If Sylvie ever decides I’m not revolting, we can talk about it again. It hurts too much to see her reactions. Better to sleep in here, it hurts, sure, but not like being the monster she flinches from. That gives me nightmares. Cathy is doing all the laundry and housework now, trying to help Sylvie control her ‘mania’ and get a normal schedule back. Cathy is washing the sheets, and my boxers, because I tried to insist that I could do my own laundry, but Cathy is a hard woman to argue with, and she says I work too many hours as it is and need to relax more. Having my mother-in-law washing my underwear is not all that relaxing. Weird enough without adding results of too long without sex, which I do not need Cathy to know about. I may be breaking a promise to my wife, but at least I know Cathy isn’t dealing with stains or knowing what happens when I don’t clean the pipes out. It’s been six months since Sylvie wanted anything to do with that part of me. Still felt guilty this morning, though. Actually I still feel guilty now. I’m pretty sure Sylvie considers it cheating, though she only really brought it up a couple times back when Jack was new. I promised her, no one but her, I promised I’d try, and I have, but I just couldn’t deal with Cathy cleaning those kind of stains, so I gave in. I’ve never thought of it as cheating, but if she does, then it is, and I feel like shit about it. Would it be better to deal with the humiliation or the guilt? I chose guilt. I’ve had more than enough of people knowing more about me than I want them to know. Why can’t I be one of those 40-year-old guys whose dicks don’t act like they’re still sixteen? I wouldn’t miss the wet dreams or trying to hide my reaction when Sylvie wears certain things or just bends a certain way. It takes almost nothing to get me hard anymore. Just being near Sylvie, physically, and my dick thinks it’s party time, and when she nurses either of the boys, she’s not shy – she shouldn’t be, it’s not sexual, shouldn’t be anyway – and all my brain computes anymore is ‘naked tit’. Nothing like getting hard watching your wife feed your son, with your mother-in-law ten feet away – I’m a complete perv. The idea of subjecting Sylvie to the reactions of my body if we’re in the same bed, shit, no. She’d be so pissed. Worse, she’d maybe feel used or objectified or humiliated.

* * *

It took her a few minutes to understand what he was talking around, then despite being entirely alone in the room, felt herself blush at the realization that he was talking about masturbating. He was – or had been – feeling guilty for masturbating because he apparently thought Sylvie thought it was cheating on her. She didn’t think that, not at all, especially not considering that actual sex with her had not been on the table at all – he wasn’t neglecting her to watch internet porn or something, that might, no definitely would, bother her. She had a sudden shocking thought – had Matt not jerked off once between her birthday and Mom moving in a few weeks ago? Had he really gone six months without even touching himself? Matt’s sex drive had always been pretty consistent, a couple times a week at least, and to think of him going entirely without startled her. She was confused though, about where he got the idea that she thought it was cheating for him to, how did he put it, ‘clean the pipes.’ She had to admit he was right about one thing though – she wouldn’t feel objectified or humiliated by him having wet dreams (she was pretty sure that’s what he meant by stains) but she might have been mad and definitely uncomfortable. She didn’t think she’d have much enjoyed waking up to drying semen on her, and given that when they were in the same bed, Matt inevitably ended up wrapped around her – he was such a cuddler even in his sleep – it would’ve ended up on her.

She supposed his apparent attraction to her nursing might explain his recent reluctance to look at her when she was nursing either Jack or Alec. He had always seemed fascinated by it, and he’d admitted finding it attractive when Jack was newborn, she remembered that, but she didn’t think it had been _that_ strong of an attraction. Apparently it was now. Maybe it was just those months without that made him more sensitive to even mild stimuli. Now that they were getting on more even ground when it came to their sex life, maybe she could take some advantage of the new knowledge though. She might as well find something to enjoy (for both of them) from the fact that she had gone from a 34B to a 36DD thanks to her pregnancies and breastfeeding. She wasn’t a huge fan of the bigger boobs, really, but she was all about using them if it tempted Matt back into the proverbial marriage bed. Except she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d feel about him actually, you know, touching them and all the other things he liked to do.

* * *

October 1. Fewer moods, but still some extremes. Cathy is going home tomorrow. She’s stayed longer than she thought already. I’m so lucky to have such great in-laws. Cathy was just in here, I think apologizing for her daughter. Sylvie is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I told her that, but Cathy started crying. Not happy tears. I don’t understand why. Just the Matt Casey effect, I guess – I tend to make women cry. I just held her. It must be hard to have seen Sylvie so different. I mean, I know it is, but I had longer to adjust, and Sylvie isn’t my child. I think it was set off by Sylvie’s mood tonight. First time she’s let me have it with both barrels when we’ve had company. It was a bad argument. I say argument because I stupidly tried to defend myself. There is never a defense. I know better. Just say ‘yes sir’ or ‘yes ma’am’ and apologize, even if you’re right, you’re always wrong, and just move on. It’s over quicker that way. I know better. She ran through the whole list just about. I’m selfish and mean. I’m too needy, too pathetic, not ‘man enough,’ she isn’t attracted to me anymore. That it’s no wonder everyone leaves me. I’m a horrible husband. I’m a bad father. I’m going to screw up Jack and Alec. It’s not true. If I write it down enough, if I make myself say it in the only place I can safely say it without sparking another fight, I’ll keep believing it. It’s not true. I’m not mean. I’m not selfish. I’m not a bad dad. I’m not screwing up my sons. I already knew I’m too needy and pathetic. She’s definitely not been attracted to me in quite a few months. God, I wish Sylvie was really here so I could talk to her. I could use a good Sylvie-style pep talk. So I try to think what Sylvie would say and say it to myself. I’m a good dad and I try to be a good husband. I put my boys and my wife first, always. I’m careful how I talk to them, Sylvie and Peanut and Nugget, all of them. I’m not afraid to discipline (as much as you can with a kid not even two years old) but Jack will never hear from me that he’s bad. I remember hearing that so often. It wasn’t that I’d been bad, misbehaved or something. I was bad. There’s rot in me, somewhere deep down, I can’t ever get it out. But not Jack. Even at Jack’s age, I’m getting in the habit, always, it’s about making a wrong choice, not that he’s a ‘bad boy’. He’s the best boy. My boy. Alec, too. Some things can end with me. That rot, that ends with me. My boys won’t have this thing inside them, this pit of something that might be cruelty and anger, or maybe it’s just all the bad things that ever happened, like tar in my soul. Something pitch-black and gross and smelly, and it’s deep down inside, where no one can get it out. 

Sylvie doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean any of it. I know that. So there’s no need for Cathy to apologize, not that she would have to anyway because it’s definitely not her fault I piss off my wife. But I have nightmares that all I remember when I wake up is her taking the boys and leaving, and I hear her voice saying those things. The same things that pit of dark has always whispered. She doesn’t mean it. But I hear it, and as much I try not to listen, she said it, all of it. So I have to tell myself, over and over again, that it’s not Sylvie. It’s just the hormones making her not herself. My Sylvie is on a vacation or something, and she’s coming back soon, and this Sylvie, frankly, she can fuck off and never come back. I love my Sylvie. I miss her. And I think, maybe, she misses me. It’s there, in the good moments, that connection between us, and I’m glad it’s there because it reminds me that my Sylvie doesn’t mean any of this crap. She’d probably smack me – and not on my ass, she’d say I’d like that – for believing any of that stuff. So I don’t believe it. I refuse to. She doesn’t believe it, when she’s not in a rage, and I know that because she’s getting better, for me. It has to be for me, because I’m the only one she’s really been raging at. No one’s ever changed themselves for me. It’s actually really amazing and makes me feel pretty damn loved. Is that weird? It might be weird. Another thing to talk to Dr. Sandlin about at some point when I go back to therapy. I have a feeling that when my Sylvie gets back, she’s going to drag me back to Sandlin’s office by the balls.

Gabby called today. She’s getting married to a guy down there, a fellow relief worker. I’m happy to hear that. I’m glad she called. She deserves a guy who fits her better than I ever did. She deserves better than I could ever give her. Still, I worry about her. I know she’s going to try to get pregnant. I worry about her. I’m not in love, but I still love her. I wonder if she still loves me at all. Some days, I wonder if she ever did to start with. Tonight, I wonder why anyone ever has. First thing on the agenda with Dr. Sandlin when I go back to therapy. Sylvie and the boys deserve a healthy me. Luckily, Sylvie agrees, my Sylvie does, and that’s why she’s taking the meds and everything. I can never tell her any of this. She feels so bad about it already, and she doesn’t remember most of her rages apparently, there’s no need for her to ever remember. She’ll just feel horrible. Hopefully, it all starts to level back out soon. I can forget all this in time and move on. I know she worries that I don’t love her as much or something because of these moods, the postpartum rage thing. Stupid. She’s just sick. It’d be like being mad or loving her less because she got the flu. She didn’t mean any of it. She didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s not what she thinks. She gave me my boys. She owns my soul. She thinks I’m being poetic or something when I say that. Me, being poetic. Sylvie is strange sometimes. I’m not being poetic. She owns my soul. There is nothing she could do that would ever make me love her less, or be less grateful, for the lives of my children. Plus, she’s an amazing person. She just had a rough patch. People have rough patches. And I feel like by being with her through it, helping in what tiny stupid ways I could, I earned something. Dr. Sandlin would probably want to ‘unpack’ that. I don’t know quite what I earned. Love maybe. But she already loves me. Maybe it’s like Sister Domitia used to say – God already loves us, but we still owe repayment for his Grace, to show our understanding of how blessed we’ve been. I know how blessed I am to have Sylvie. Maybe now she’ll know that I know. But I am. Truly. Absolutely blessed. I never thought I’d get to be as happy as I am every day when I come home and Jack runs to me, and Alec is in Sylvie’s arms, and this is all mine. If I ever get to Heaven, that’ll be it, all I need. Well, maybe I’ll get to introduce Andy to Sylvie and my boys. He’d be so stoked. He’d also be saying ‘I told you so, you stupid fucker, you’d get your family someday.’

* * *

Sylvie swiped at her cheeks, tears pouring down her face after that entry. God, that was really only a few days ago, less than two weeks. She did feel horribly guilty, reading through his feelings, because she had never wanted to put him through any of this. She knew how sensitive he was, underneath that big tough firefighter front, once he let someone in, he had like zero defenses against criticism. He took it _so_ hard when people he loved criticized him. Kelly could cut into Matt so readily, and sometimes did, even just Kelly doubting Matt’s observations or instincts, let alone outright criticism, would both piss Matt off and make him doubt himself. Nancy could shred him emotionally with even small little things, in some ways Matt had arrested at sixteen, still needing his parents’ approval and permanently robbed of it but it was like he was stuck searching for his mother’s support and love and approval always. She knew it had to be even worse when it was her own voice saying those things to him. And Sylvie couldn’t help wondering what Gabby had really done to Matt. She had never delved too deeply into that with Matt, never pushed him to talk about Gabby, because she mostly selfishly wanted to just close that chapter in the book of his life – get Gabby Dawson out of their marriage. Gabby was a good person, but a bad wife, and exactly wrong for Matt, who needed desperately to be needed, while Gabby refused to ever need anyone. She hoped Gabby’s new guy was a perfect match for her independent streak.

Sylvie swiped once more at her cheeks. She wanted to talk to Matt about all of this, but she just didn’t trust that conversation, they were on too soft of ground right now. That ice won’t skate, as Grandma would say. She and Matt needed to get into a regular routine back with Dr. Sandlin, regardless of finances. Their marriage, while not on the rocks, needed a bit of help sorting back out, and most importantly, Matt clearly needed that unbiased outside voice back in his life. Getting back into therapy, that she could bring up with him much more easily than all of this. Talking about all of this could come up in therapy. And yes, if she had to drag him by the balls or some other equally painful grip, she would. She turned back to the journal, which only had it looked like a few more entries in it, which made sense, these entries weren’t from very long ago.

* * *

October 3. Sylvie kissed me today. Nothing big, just a little kiss when I got home. It’s probably stupid, but I feel ten feet tall. It’s getting better. That’s my Sylvie. I never knew what she sees in me, but I think maybe she’s remembering anyway. I want to trust that it will last. That’s the hard part. Not loving her, or wanting her, but trusting that her love, or even tolerance, for me isn’t going to change tomorrow or next week. That it isn’t a mood or a phase. No one has ever really wanted me around for very long. Trusting what she said when we started, when we got married, is my ‘homework’ for now. She’s here forever. She deserves my trust, I just have to keep working on believing that the fact that she loves me now doesn’t just mean now, it is a permanent situation.

October 5. Sylvie is practically herself again. I guess everything is levelling out. It’s clear I still frustrate her, but the sharp turns in mood and the rages haven’t been seen in a week and I don’t miss that. From this side of it, I can say I was scared to leave her with the boys sometimes. I never saw her fly into a rage with them, it was only ever me, but I remember. It’s not a fair comparison. I remember Dad, how he was when Mom wasn’t around. Mom was right, I do remember after the divorce, when he couldn’t get his anger out at her, it was me. Christie was gone by then, but sometimes her before, when we were younger, but usually me. Jack and Alec are still so small and she’s nothing like Dad but I was still a little scared. But she’s herself again, or near enough, and I feel like I can breathe again. I can trust her completely again. I always trusted that Sylvie wouldn’t hurt me, it was just her hormones or whatever, but I didn’t trust her hormones. But my Sylvie has moved back in, and just like always, it’s a breath of fresh air and sunshine and all that unicorn crap that she just brings into the life of everyone around her.

She even agreed to let the girls have their Halloween party. Violet sounded excited when I called her. Then she broke out the real reason she wants to be over here. She wants to get drunk in a ‘safe place’ before she goes to see Daniel at college next month. Officially it’s a college visit, but she’s going to see him for a few days just after my birthday. She’s staying in a dorm room with a girl from her school, but she’s really going to see him. He’s at U of I. She says college parties will be ‘wild’ which I hate but she’s probably not wrong. We’ve been called to more than a few college parties over the years. I talked to Christie, because I’m not an idiot, and she says she’s okay with Violet trying it out here, if there is no chance of anyone driving or getting hurt in any way, that better she get drunk with me home and upstairs than on her own at a party, whether this year or next. I kept my mouth shut about what I think the odds are that my niece is actually not staying in Daniel’s room, or just how biblically Daniel knows my niece, either already or after this ‘college visit’ – part of me never wants to know, and part of me, a Neanderthal part I’m sure, wants to make my own little ‘college visit’. I wonder if I should get signed permission slips from the girls’ parents. Had to laugh though at Violet asking – begging – that I have something other than the “gross stuff I normally have.” She’s not a whisky drinker apparently. I’d be worried if she was at her age. I’ll ask Sylvie in a couple days what teenage girls like. Wine is an easy start, not too high ABV. Bad hangovers though. Maybe vodka. Anyone can drink vodka in a mixer. Probably better to get them something they can mix with soda without giving me a stroke. I’m also going to have a serious talk with all the girls about alcohol and responsibility – like never driving even ‘buzzed’ and basically never drink with a guy you don’t know well, because men are assholes, pretty much – but given how much drinking I was doing before I was 21, I’d be a hypocrite to say simply ‘don’t drink at all’. So, yeah, I guess this year I’m running a Halloween-themed flop house. Come to think of it, I think I’m going to get those toddler alarms on the doors downstairs before Halloween – no more uninvited guests. And definitely signed permission slips from parents.

* * *

Sylvie smiled reading that conclusion because that was pretty much exactly what Matt had done. He’d already purchased these alarms for the tops of every exterior door that made a really obnoxious and loud sound if the door was opened. The home security alarm only worked when it was armed, and these were basically just to keep Jack from sneaking out once he could figure out how to open the doors, which really was just a matter of a bit more height and strength she figured. He’d put them up last week, and while they were simple enough, there was no real way to thwart them – especially not since Matt had also gotten an app on his phone that alerted him if the motion-detector lights outside the downstairs entry or the backyard gate to the alley was set off. He was willing to let the girls experiment with drinking in his house, but he was not going to have another round of unexpected guests he didn’t know in his home. He’d also insisted on an in-person meeting with all the parents, though that was actually happening later this week, and yes, signed permission forms. Never let it be said that he had not learned from all his years as a city employee and maybe as an alderman: cover your ass.

The plan Violet and her friends had come up with was pretty simple and a lot like last year: Violet and Sadie would tag-team babysitting Jack and Alec while Matt and Sylvie went to the Saturday night Halloween bash at Molly’s (Halloween was actually Monday, but they were on shift and Saturday was always going to be a busier party night for adults than a Monday, given November 1, unlike January 1, was not a holiday for most people). They would be home by 10 pm, being boring old parents (Violet’s words, but at least Matt had laughed) and Maddie, Chloe, Anna, and Isabella would come over at 10 o’clock, and be joined by Lucy and Sophie at 11 o’clock or so, because the twins had some charity event they were helping at until 10:30 but still wanted to come. Violet had brought over Isabella and they’d tested the speakers for their music to find the right volume that was fun in the basement but not noticeable over the white-noise machines in the boys’ bedroom. Junk food, drinking, movies (not necessarily scary, but Halloween-themed) were the plan really. Sylvie had been content that Matt was assured that the girls really just wanted to try getting drunk together in a no-pressure situation. And if someone were to overdo it, at least they had an in-house paramedic. Plus, Matt said he figured knowing ‘parents’ were upstairs would keep it a bit more responsible – he was going to do some walk-throughs a few times through the night just to check on the girls.

Thinking of Halloween reminded Sylvie that she had an appointment to pick up her costume later this week as well. She was going kind of all-out with it this year, but it was also kind of a squad thing that she was doing with Stella and Cindy. Only, Sylvie had some crucial foundational pieces as well because she was going to make Matt’s eyes pop this year, that was her whole goal. Well, his eyes and other parts of him, but that would be later. Not at Molly’s. In fact, with the girls over on Saturday, she might save that second costume for like the day after actual Halloween since they were on shift for actual Halloween. Though, she could honestly say her husband had dressed as a sexy firefighter for Halloween, which was the closest Matt would ever come to wearing a costume.

* * *

October 8. Almost a week since Cathy left. I was worried it would all go back to the way it was before once she left. Like Sylvie had been behaving for her mom or something. Ridiculous thing to think. Sylvie would never be that fake. She’s a bad actress anyway. She’s herself again. Still a bit prone to tears, but the rages are completely gone it seems. Good riddance. Though I can’t stand when she cries, but at least it’s the sort of crying that all she really needs from me is a hug. I can do that. From here to eternity I will give her all the hugs she could ever need. Is it sad that I’m so damned happy to be able to do that? I can’t fix the problems, she knows she’s overreacting to situations, but she says that just being able to cry on me helps. I don’t get it, but I love it. I’m an asshole. I hate her crying, but I love being able to comfort her. She’s started talking to me about the last few months. Today, she told me she wants me to move back into the master bedroom. I told her I need her to think about it, to be completely certain. I’m not sure I’ll sleep at all tonight. I just want to bask in sleeping next to her, maybe even have her in my arms. I knew it was just a rough patch. Stick it out through the winter and summer days come back again.

* * *

Sylvie was tearing up a little and smiling a little at the same time reading that. At least she knew how he really felt. It wasn’t quite what she’d call confidence, but he did some relatively secure in their marriage, despite his long stretch in the guest room and everything that had happened between them. She wondered if she should be grateful he was so messed up, maybe a more together guy would have more of a problem with everything, instead of being so willing to just put it in the past and move on. It probably wasn’t healthy, as much as she would sort of love to just go on, pretending nothing had happened and go right back to where they’d been. But she didn’t believe in leaving things to fester.

“I figured it out a few days ago.”   
Sylvie shrieked, literally jumping, as Matt’s voice startled – almost literally – the piss out of her.

“God, make some _noise_ or something. You almost gave me a heart attack.” She managed once she could find actual words.

“If I made noise, you’d have tried to put that right back and acted like you weren’t doing exactly what you were doing.” He pointed out, very reasonably and annoyingly correctly.

“Well, if I woke the boys, you’re gonna be dealing with them.” She promised him.

“Alec sleeps through just about anything, and apparently,” Matt paused, clearly listening to the room next door, “so does Jack today.”  
“I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but-“  
“Sylvie, let’s go downstairs.”  
“Matt, I’m sorry-“  
“I’m not mad.” He reassured her, with a gentle smile, “I just don’t want to continue risking waking up the boys. We can go in our room if you’d rather talk there.”  
“Downstairs.” She didn’t want to risk tainting any part of their room with anything bad or even uncomfortable right at the moment. She followed Matt downstairs and joined him on the sofa in the living room. She hadn’t realized she was shaking until Matt took her hand.

“Babe, I’m really not mad. It’s okay.”  
“I think it’s just…like left over adrenaline.” Sylvie shook her head. “And I’m sorry I invaded your privacy and read your therapy journal. It was, I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted to know so badly, so I could help you, I guess, or maybe it was just really selfish and I wanted to help myself more than you, because it’s really been about what I want, like you moving back in the master and-“  
“Slow down, Syl.” Matt laughed lightly. “First off, we can talk about why you were reading my therapy journal in a minute, but if you think I didn’t want to move back in that bed with you, you didn’t read very carefully. That is not what you wanted, it’s what _we_ wanted, which makes it the right decision – we both wanted it.”  
“I just feel like I’ve been horribly selfish for months.”  
“You’ve been recovering from some big stuff, Sylvie. Not least of which is having baby. A second baby, in fifteen months. You’re entitled to some self-centered moments.”  
“How come you never have any then?” She threw back, a little petulantly but also genuinely curious.

“I do.” Matt shrugged, and his smile looked a bit chagrined. “I, uh, haven’t been entirely honest with you, Sylvie. I’ve not…always been exactly where I told you I’ve been. Not in the way you accused me of, by the way, there’s definitely no other woman or women in my life.”  
“I still can’t believe I thought that.” Sylvie shook her head, amused and amazed at her own irrationality.

“Yeah, I was kind of surprised, flattered but surprised, that you thought I could get a side piece.”  
“Oh, you could definitely get a side piece.” Sylvie argued lightly. “You just never _would_.”

“Well, in this case, my ‘side piece’ was Bill Gallagher.”  
“Uhm…okay, that…is a weird mental image I never needed.” Sylvie couldn’t help the way her face contorted at the strange thought of Matt and his former foster father, but of course Matt didn’t mean that, but still, it was such a turn of phrase that for some reason the image just hit her. Matt laughed, thankfully.

“Oh, your face. Like biting into a dozen lemons or something.”  
“Well, much as I like the Gallaghers, Matt, I’m not quite sure what your Aintin Jo quite, uh, saw in him.”  
“He’s a good man, and she insists he used to be a very handsome man.”  
“Guess he doesn’t age well.” Sylvie wrinkled her nose. Bill Gallagher wasn’t ugly, per se, though the few broken noses she perceived probably hadn’t helped his features that much, but he wasn’t the most attractive visage, either.

“Probably the drinking and smoking don’t help.” Matt shrugged. “Jo’s gorgeous, and luckily the kids look more like her side of the family. I didn’t mean what you clearly thought,” Matt chuckled again, “I meant I’ve been out to Mount Greenwood, a couple nights a week usually.”  
“Just…talking to Mr. Gallagher?”  
“Talk to himself?” Matt laughed. “He speaks less than I do, Sylvie. Aintin Jo does all the talking, always has. Nah, I’ve been training again.”  
“Training for what?”  
“Fighting. I thought you knew, I mean, that I’d been one of his boyos, as he calls us.”  
“I thought that meant one of the kids they took in. Fighting? What, like boxing? Antonio used to box, but you never do those police versus fire things.”  
“I wasn’t a boxer. MMA. I thought everyone knew. I mean, Mouch knows and Otis knows, once those two know something, half of Chicago pretty much knows.”  
“MMA? Like that Ultimate Fighting stuff you watch sometimes?”  
“Yeah, like that, only I wasn’t _that_ good. Decent, but nothing like the stuff on tv.”

“Matthew Casey, that is…what do you mean you’ve been training? For what? You’re not actually going to fight, are you? Because I have seen those fights and let me tell you-“  
“What, you think I couldn’t keep up at my age?”  
“I think you have absolutely no business getting hit in the head, you…you…” Sylvie trailed off, unable to even come up with a word for how ridiculous it would be for him to even think about fighting with his history of injuries, especially that head injury, she knew his neurologist kept warning him about concussions and blows to the head, “I will kill you myself, Matthew Casey and save myself the worry and anticipation, if you even think of letting someone hit you repeatedly and kick you in the head and-“  
“I love you.” Matt cut her off, kissing her swiftly. He pulled back, a broad smile on his face. “I have no plans to actually fight, I was just training – no one was hitting me, I was doing the hitting, mostly inanimate objects. I did some of the wrestling, jiu jitsu bits, with some of the younger guys, but no striking. There’s some old home videos of a couple of my fights, though, when I was a kid, if you’re interested in seeing how mediocre I was.”  
“Mr. Gallagher taught you how to fight?”  
“I told you, he taught me how to fight the right way – I was an angry, hurt, teenage boy with no way to vent everything, and he gave me that. A socially acceptable way to just let it all out, one that didn’t get me suspended from schools or kicked out of foster placements.”  
“Did it help you deal with…with how I was?”  
“It did.” Matt nodded. “You needed a place to vent, and that was me. I needed a place to vent, and I went back to what I knew – I hit things. A lot of things. Really hard. But it kept me together and sane and helped me shed some of the same feelings it always helped me deal with.”  
“Then I guess I’m glad you had that. Except that the Gallaghers now probably hate me.”  
“You think in twenty-something years of marriage, and five kids, they haven’t had some rough times?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised. “It’s fine, Sylvie, I promise. Though next time we visit, you might want to be prepared for a talk about avoiding kids so close together – Aintin Jo, Mary, and Cathy had a very awkward few words for me about zipping my trousers as they put it.”

“I’m pretty sure **_I_** was responsible for unzipping them.” Sylvie had to laugh a bit, though, before checking, “And you’re really not mad that I was reading your journal?”  
“I have no secrets from you, Sylvie. Read whatever you want. I don’t like secrets in a marriage. There were some things I couldn’t say to you, because it wouldn’t have been productive at the time, and some things I wouldn’t ever say to you, because I think it would only hurt you and there’s no point in that, but if you need to know, and God knows I suck at talking, I don’t mind, I guess.”  
“How long ago did you figure it out, that I was reading your journal?”  
“After you made me that fantastic dinner. Just something in the way you talked about things, sort of struck me like you’d heard my side of things, even though we hadn’t talked about it yet.” Matt kissed her softly. “I appreciate that you wanted my side of things, even if I don’t talk much. I just hope it didn’t make you feel worse.”  
“No worse than I deserve.”  
“No guilt, Sylvie. It’s, I know how easy it is to let guilt eat away at you, and your relationship. So, we’re moving forward.”

“Forward together.” Sylvie agreed, though she wasn’t sure she’d ever get rid of all the guilt she felt right now. She kissed him this time, running her fingers through his hair. She couldn’t help mumbling against his lips, “you smell fantastic” even as she deepened the kiss, coaxing his tongue out to meet hers. She lost track of time, space, everything around her, as they made out like teenagers again. She realized she was on her back on the sofa, Matt over her and between her legs, his lips doing obscene things to her neck, only when she was startled by the sounds of a very upset toddler.

“MOMMY!” The distinctive sound of Jack’s frustrated rattling of the baby gate at the top of the stairs followed. Matt had installed a clear acrylic solid gate at the top of the stairs – not for its looks, but because it would be hard to climb, with no possible footholds – although Sylvie didn’t usually leave the boys upstairs alone for naptime, just in case, but today she was slightly grateful to be interrupted by yelling, not him just appearing on the sofa with them or something.   
“My son has great timing.” Matt half-groaned into her neck, but he was shifting off of her a moment later. “I’ll go up and get him, and check on Alec.”  
“Jack had about a gallon of water before nap time, ask him if he needs a new diaper.”  
“I remember.” Matt smiled gently at her. “I’ve got them, Mommy. Alec will definitely need a new diaper, he always does, and Jack probably.”  
“How long until we can potty train?”  
“At least a few more months with Jack, according to Cindy.” Matt shrugged. “That’s just daytime. Nighttime, Mommy, we got years left of diapers.”  
“Mommy!” Jack yelled again.

“I’m coming, Peanut.” Matt called back, moving towards the stairs.

“DADDY!” Jack’s voice went from frustrated to excited in a split second, and then Sylvie had to laugh as she heard her son, at full volume, report, “uh-oh, got scited an pee.”  
“Thanks for telling me you need a new diaper, Peanut. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then maybe Alec will be up, and we can play a bit before dinner, huh?” Matt’s voice trailed off as he reached the top of the stairs. God, she loved her life. Though she kind of missed uninterrupted sexy times on the living room sofa.


	10. Back in the Saddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm...I guess the only thing I can say to defend this chapter is it felt like the right time to earn that rating. There is also a point, though, it isn't entirely gratuitous. Promise.

Sylvie was awake, relishing this time, not particularly sleepy but she’d been perfectly content to go to bed early tonight, just to have some time with Matt. Not that they couldn’t have hung out anywhere in the house, of course they could have, but far be it from her to complain about extra hours spent cuddling in bed. It was getting close to Halloween, and aside from all his other merits, Matt really was like a breathing furnace, he just radiated heat. Besides, it had been the promised three nights, and she kind of was trying to figure out how to make it clear she wanted sex without being horribly blunt or worse demanding about it. She was shaken from her thoughts by Matt’s quiet words. They’d been silent for several minutes now.

“I don’t want you to think I’m putting any blame anywhere, or that I’m angry, because I’m not.” Matt paused. “But I think, once we get ahead on some things, financially, I think it’d be a good idea if we did some therapy together for a little while.”  
“I’m not saying no,” she led with that, “I’m just going to ask why.”  
“You don’t remember everything, from, I mean, your mood swings, you admit that much. You don’t remember everything. And it’s been, I knew you were struggling and it’d be really shitty of me to complain when you were trying so hard not to…well, to feel better.” Matt paused again, and she let him gather his words. She wondered how long he’d been storing up all these words – he had been taking a lot on his shoulders, including being her primary dumping ground for all her horrific mood swings that went along with her version of postpartum psychosis. “It was hardest when you’d be just sobbing and inconsolable over things that didn’t seem like a big deal at all, to me. I felt helpless, and I hate feeling helpless. But the therapy, I think, Sylvie, I love you more than I could ever find words to say, but you said some things, when you were angry, that I’m…I’m having a hard time living with. And I want us to have help when we talk about them. Because I don’t want to say it wrong and make things worse. I want us to close the gap, as you said, not tear any holes wider.”  
“Okay.” She nodded firmly against his chest. “That’s a plan then. I won’t ask you to tell me what I said, we’ll wait for therapy, as long as you’re sure you’re okay with that – and I think I need help figuring out how to deal with what I already know I did, like hitting you. I know you say you’re okay with it, maybe you are, but I’m not, and that’s something we should deal with. If you’re, Matt, if you’re struggling, I’d rather you restart therapy right away. We’ll find the money. **_You_** are more important than any amount of money.”  
“I’m alright.” Matt kissed the top of her head softly. “I just don’t want to let things sort of fester. Like a splinter. It needs to come out, but it’s hardly an emergency. Though, I do, if you’re comfortable talking about some more things, I…uh, I do have one question.”  
“What is it?”  
“In one of your, uh, mood swings, you accused me of comparing you to Gabby. You don’t really think that, do you?”  
“You know I do, or I did. Not so much now as, you used to, sometimes you still, you predict my behaviors like I’m her or I’ll act like her.” Sylvie refused to lie to him, even about something that she worried would hurt him. They had enough mess between them, she wasn’t going to make anything worse by lying.  
“No, I know that, and I am still working on that, I swear. I meant, you said I compare you two, uh, sexually. I never have, and never would.” She felt him kiss the top of her head gently.  
“She is hotter than me.” Sylvie had to admit that, she’d always thought that.  
“No, she isn’t.”  
“She has better boobs than me, and she has gorgeous skin, and I know you always loved her ass, you like a girl with a booty, admit it-“  
“So you do believe that. Fuck. I’ve been a pretty shitty husband, huh?”  
Her head shot up, changing angles enough to meet his eyes. “What? No. I just sometimes wonder. If you do.”  
“If you wonder, I’m screwing up. I honestly never thought about it.” Matt smiled at her, a small but genuine smile that warmed her heart after a rough conversation. “I see you, Sylvie, and it’s…obviously I have been with other women, you know that – not a ton, but a few – but when I look at you, I’m not thinking about anything other than you. I can’t imagine any woman more perfect. And you have _fantastic_ tits, by the way, and an ass that makes parts of me stand at attention anytime you wear those jeans, you know the ones I mean, or one of those tight, what do you call ‘em, sheath dress things.” His tone had gotten more teasing as he spoke.  
“That’s probably the eight months without.” Sylvie teased him right back.

“It doesn’t help, admittedly, but it worked even before the dry spell. If you haven’t noticed how much time I spend completely distracted by how sexy you are, you’re really not paying attention. Trust me, I’m not ever comparing you to anyone else.” Matt leaned in to kiss her softly. “But it makes me wonder, do you?”  
“Do I what?” God, it really had been too long since she’d kissed him. It felt like electricity between their lips every time these last few days. She hoped he felt it too.

“Compare. I mean, how do I stack up against our former chaplain, or your other exes? What about Harrison, the ex-fiance? Did he have a better ass than me?”  
“No, he didn’t.” She almost laughed, but instead she kissed him again. “Very few men have a better ass than you do. I think it’s better than mine, you jerk.”  
“Uhm, no, definitely not.”  
“How could you tell, you can’t see it!”  
“Well, you can’t see yours!” Matt shot right back.

“Mirrors can be used. You’re just not vain enough to have done that. I _am_. You definitely have the better ass in this marriage.” Sylvie replied, but she was laughing, which felt amazing. Even more than kissing him, it had been too long since they’d really just laughed with each other in bed. Matt waited for the chuckles to die down, but then asked,  
“I’m just wondering, generally, do you compare me to other guys? Do you miss having a guy with a dick that wasn’t a sideshow freak act?”

“Matt.” She sighed. “It’s not…it’s not a comparison or competition.”  
“That’s a yes.”  
“No, it’s not.” She paused, then met his eyes firmly so he’d know she was very serious. “You have the best-looking penis I’ve ever seen. I mean, I’ll be honest, penises are not the most attractive bit of anatomy God ever invented, but they _are_ highly useful and despite the slightly odd aesthetics, it’s among my very favorite parts of you, well, physical parts of you. But yours is nice. The foreskin took some getting used to, you’re a bit more sensitive about some things, but I like it. So any comparison is definitely in your favor. And I like that you’re big. Though I wish I could figure out how to give you a proper blowjob.” She paused again, then let a smile spread across her face. “And yes, to answer the question you won’t ask but want to know, yours is the biggest – by a very large margin if I estimated its volume correctly – of all the dicks I’ve had personal experience with, which is…you know, less than half a dozen. But still. Biggest.”

“You know I really don’t care about the blowjob thing. I’ve been telling you that for literally years now.”

“I do care, a bit.” Sylvie reminded him. “It’s not just something I do for you – I like having you in my mouth. Just like you enjoy giving me oral, right? Except I don’t really get to finish you properly that way and I wish I could. I think it would be amazing to feel you really come in my throat.”  
“Fuck.” Matt shifted and she couldn’t help grinning at him.

“You’re getting hard, aren’t you?” She teased a little, snuggling a bit closer, mostly as an excuse to bump their bodies together a bit.

“You say shit like that, after eight months without sex, and yes, I’m getting hard from it.” Matt defended, but he was smiling a little, too. “I mean, how would you do if I said I really want you to ride my face until you scream through at least two orgasms-“  
“It has been way too long.” She interrupted, feeling a charge of familiar old electricity surge through her body. She was definitely turned on, just from that, and the boys were down for the night and why the hell couldn’t they?

“Yeah, see, it’s not so funny-“ she cut him off this time with a kiss, moving swiftly to straddle his body, pinning him on his back on the bed. Several minutes later, nearly breathless from the glorious battle for dominance between their tongues, she gasped out,

“I want to feel your mouth on me like that.”  
“You want me to eat you out?” Matt replied, as always his breathing more regular than hers, but she couldn’t complain about his lung capacity given it apparently aided exactly what she was asking him to do.

“I want to ride your face until you have me screaming, and then I want to…” she tried to put into words what she wanted to do to him, a rolodex of delicious possibilities scrolling through her brain, but she went with the first image that really settled, something she’d wanted to do for a while but never managed without him interrupting her, “I want to suck your balls and see if I can make you come from just that. If you do, I want to lick your come off your abs, and if you don’t, I’m going to-“ She didn’t finish the thought, as Matt fused their mouths together again, his tongue twining around hers. Then _she_ was on her back, her husband between her legs, before her brain could focus on anything besides the feel of his mouth on hers again after so long without. She caught her breath, as he moved down her body, and somehow she was out of her pajamas, she had no memory of losing her clothes, she felt drunk, like really drunk, like only a vague sense of what is going on around you but flying high and completely happy drunk, as Matt rolled them back over so she was once again on top of him.

“Babe?”  
“Huh?”  
“Kneel up. Pretty sure you just promised to ride my face until you scream – though my goal is both screaming and squirting all over my face.”  
“You say I say the hottest shit.” Sylvie gasped, but she moved over him as he rolled onto his back. Then they stopped bothering with actual words, she just let herself get lost in the sensation, and if she came startlingly quickly, well, that didn’t matter that much, because Matt just kept going and it took two more (fast) orgasms before she was – as promised – screaming, trying to stifle it in a pillow as she fell forward over him, and he was _still_ going, and she almost cursed being able to come multiple times because Matt seemed to take it as a personal challenge to set some new record or something, but she just kept coming, no break at all, she just kept coming and much as she had missed this in the last few weeks, it was too much, just too much, and she tried to move away but he grabbed her thighs and held her against him, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t catch her breath, as she bucked against him and felt like she was literally coming apart, hitting a new level of pleasure-pain-nerve overload-ecstasy. Just when she was certain she was going to literally stop breathing from the overload, he slowed. She felt her whole body shaking uncontrollably as he finally pulled away, and she went limp over him, well, except for those lingering tremors. It took a few minutes, she thought it was a few minutes anyway, before she sort of became sane again, and realized she was still straddling her husband’s face – not that he seemed distressed by this, in fact, he was gently nuzzling at her still.

“Matt, don’t even.”  
“Hm?”  
“You just tried to kill me. I can’t…wow, talk about a come-back show. You didn’t exactly ease me back into a sex life did you?” She teased, as she carefully moved to lie next to him, though his face was closer to her navel than her own face.

“I had a lot of energy stored up.” Matt replied lightly, but he sounded very pleased with himself.

“Give me a sec and I’ll…well, I think I made a promise to you about sucking on your balls.”  
“I’ll take a rain-check if-“  
“You’ve had too many months of rain-checks, Matt. We both have.” She ran her fingers through his hair gently.  
“I’m just saying I don’t need-“  
“Yes, you do. And I need. I need to make you feel good, Matt. The way you feel about doing that to me, that’s how I feel about making you lose your mind, too. I’ve missed having that…” Sylvie tried to find the right words. “It’s power, but not like controlling power, just, having the power to make you…lose control for all the best reasons.”  
“Do your worst.” Matt invited, grinning up at her. “I’m just saying, expect the staying power of like…a fifteen-year-old virgin.”

“I’ve already been permanently impressed by your stamina, well your everything in the bedroom, so don’t worry about it, and just enjoy.” She smiled at him, then began shimmying as gracefully as she could down the bed alongside him. He obligingly shifted up, and as tired as she had felt seconds ago, the sight of his cock hard and leaking, sticking out of his boxers, helped her find a sudden burst of energy. He obediently shifted up so she could pull his boxers down, and she tossed them carelessly off the bed somewhere. She licked along his length, starting at the root and then flicking her tongue across the taut bit of flesh that connected his foreskin to his glans. Matt went rigid, not just his cock, which seemed to find a new level of hardness under her tongue, but his entire body. She recognized the pattern of his breathing and couldn’t help looking up to meet his eyes with a grin on her face.

“You really are about to come already, aren’t you?”

“It’s been a while.” His voice sounded strained, but he was smiling.

“I guess I better skip straight to the promised ball sucking, huh?”  
“Fuck, Syl.” Matt’s cock jerked again. She bit back a chuckle and shifted slightly to be able to focus her attention on his balls. She’d never actually done this for any guy before Matt, so she didn’t even know if it was weird or kinky or whatever, all she knew or cared about was that Matt went nuts over it. She had to bite back another chuckle, even in her head that awful accidental pun made her laugh. She licked him carefully, because the hair was not her favorite part, then gently sucked one testicle, then the other, into her mouth. It was a tight fit, and if she wanted to really suck hard she had to just suck on one ball at a time, but tonight, the gentler sucking on both was sure to be enough. She’d barely gotten started, in fact, when he bucked twice underneath her and came hard, his breath coming in halting quiet gasps. She gave him a minute to gather himself, then slid up his body, and kissed him firmly.

“Thank you.” Matt said, once they’d separated again. He smiled gently. “Though you didn’t have to bring out the big guns the first night.”  
“I missed you. And your dick. And I don’t think that counts as the first time, since we didn’t technically have sex.”  
“My definition of sex includes what we just did, so it absolutely counts.” Matt laughed. “Did you miss me or my dick more?”  
“Definitely you, until the last couple weeks. It’s been more of a tie the last few days.”

“Is it really crass of me to ask if you’re up for round 2 on our first night sort of back in the saddle?”  
“Seriously?” She looked down his body, unabashedly checking him out, and sure enough, his dick hadn’t really softened at all. “Are you sure you’re nearly 41? Isn’t that thing supposed to wear out easier with age or something?”  
“Not when you’re naked and pressed against me, no. Pretty sure you naked would cure any man of any problem getting it up.” Matt’s arm tightened around her, pulling her even closer to him. His hand shifted slightly from the small of her back to her ass. “You really do have the best ass I’ve ever seen or felt.”  
“I’m sorry, Matt, but…I think you wore me out for tonight. Maybe next time a few less orgasms on your tongue if you want me to have anything left for other tab As that want to go in slot B. Oh, and you might want to wash your face. I’m pretty sure I made a mess of you.”  
“You did, and I don’t even mind at all.” Matt chuckled.  
“Are you okay with…I mean, are you, I can, take care of-“ Her hand slid down his body from his waist towards his erection.

“I’m not gonna die of slightly blue balls, Syl.” Matt chuckled again. “But if you want to, I’m not exactly going to object to my wife’s touch, either.”  
“Good. Because this time, I want to watch you.”  
“Watch me?”  
“You are going to lay there, and I am going to touch you, and you are going to enjoy it, and I am going to watch you come. Usually I don’t really get to see it because I’m distracted, but I want to watch you tonight.” Her hand wrapped firmly around his cock, well, it didn’t reach all the way around, but she knew exactly how to touch him by this point in their marriage. Slowly at first, the pad of her thumb brushing over his frenulum each pass up and down, and while he tried to keep his eyes on hers, he was soon closing his eyes regularly, as his body arched into her touch.

“I’m still not gonna last long, babe.” Matt managed to speak just a couple minutes later.

“Don’t worry about that. Just enjoy.”  
“But you wanted-“  
“I want to make you feel good. That’s all I really want, Matt.”  
“Definitely doing that.” Matt gasped a little between each word. “Can you…”  
“Can I what?”  
“Kneel up over me, just like…over my thighs?”  
“Got something in mind, Matt Casey?” She smiled at him as she moved to do as he asked. Whatever he asked, she’d do, really, but this was so mild there’d be no point in not playing along. He was staring at her, which maybe should’ve made her uncomfortable, but it didn’t.

“Just, damn,” Matt’s eyes shut for a moment, as she added a bit of a twist to her hand’s movement, “seeing you, fuck, your hips and your, fuck, that’s good, your tits, I’m so close, Syl, just a little faster.”  
“You’re being very demanding.” She leaned forward, her hand slowing down as she carefully leaned far enough to kiss him. She didn’t miss how his eyes followed her chest more than her face as she leaned. She pulled back from his lips after a moment. “Come for me, Matt.” She sped up her movements, but kept her eyes on his face. He almost managed a nod, and a moment later he arched, his body stuttering a few times as he came again. She gently eased him through his orgasm, releasing his cock because he got very sensitive after sometimes, like right after, and focused instead on just running her hands over other parts of him. When his eyes opened again, he reached up and pulled her down into a kiss.

“I love you, Sylvie.”  
“I love you, too, but not so much that I’m not going to get a washcloth. You’re going to be all sorts of sticky in the morning.”  
“Not sure I can move, but-“  
“Oh, I bet I can be persuaded to clean you up.”


	11. 20 out of 10

There was something special about having boys, Sylvie thought. Not that she thought she’d love a daughter any less than her boys, but maybe differently. Alec was still at the ‘pet rock’ phase as Matt had nicknamed it – he didn’t _do_ much besides sleep, grow, cry, eat, and make dirty diapers (all of those closely related, really). Jack was now a year and a half old, though, and becoming a real little person. He also looked a lot like a mix of her and Matt, she thought – though he acted a lot like Matt. Well, what she imagined Matt must have been like as a toddler. He was stubborn and as fiercely independent as a child that age could possibly be, but incredibly affectionate and sweet. He was surprisingly verbal (possibly her influence), but his motor skills were well beyond his age which had to be Matt’s genes. He was also amazingly possessive of his father: Sylvie could hold another child, talk to another child, no problem, but if Matt paid any attention to a child who wasn’t Jack or Alec, Jack had a full-on tantrum about it. Visits with the Bodens were out for now, since Terrence was apparently a ‘rival’ and the park was always an adventure, though thankfully Jack seemed to think of the Herrmann kids as all too old to be a threat or whatever it was he perceived other children to be. So Sylvie took Jack to any and all play groups and such things, because if Matt did it Jack had a melt-down (Matt was incapable of not saying hi and waving to the other kids if they initiated – which was sweet and understandable). She had no idea what was causing the behavior, but she figured – maybe hoped – it was just a phase.

Alec was as good a baby as his brother had been, and now an even better sleeper. Cindy still kept both boys during shifts, and even Cindy said Alec was the easiest and most compliant child she’d ever even heard of – he never fussed over anything, which actually made him a little hard to deal with because you had to just feed him on a schedule and check his diaper all the time: he rarely cried at all. Jack would tell you he had a dirty diaper and if a meal was late you knew about it. Still, talk about a princess problem, their baby was too easy! It was no surprise Alec was looking like another blond-haired blue-eyed little one, either. In a house full of boys, though, she felt somehow more special as the only girl in her boys’ lives (including Matt).

She would have said that they were deliriously happy, except that she mostly just felt exhausted. Having two kids so young was really tiring. She was the one keeping track of everything like doctors and vaccinations and that stuff, because as fantastic as Matt was, he did not apparently think it was his job to keep up with any of the boys’ appointments or things like that. She tried to remember that Matt was working _a lot_ of extra hours to get the hospital bills paid off (even his annuity from his lawsuit had only cut it in half – and thank God for that half) but she still sometimes felt a distance from him that bothered her, like a toothache that wouldn’t go away but never really interrupted her life. She had asked him several times if he was okay, if he was happy, if he needed anything, and he’d start to answer, then she’d see him cut off and insist he was fine, just a little tired, nothing worth bothering about. She was annoyed that Matt still wouldn’t _really_ talk to her, but right now, she also still felt way too apologetic to push him about anything. She had looked at the calendar, when Mom called to confirm Thanksgiving plans (they were coming up from Fowlerton, because Matt had a construction project he said he couldn’t leave and they were both on shift for Thursday anyway), and cursed.

“Sylvie, is something wrong?” Mom asked, sounding concerned.

“I forgot to remind Matt about the start of his hockey league is all. It’s on the calendar.”

“Well, he should have seen it then. Besides, is that such a bad thing?”  
“I forgot.” Sylvie sighed. “I completely forgot the _one_ thing Matt does for himself. I was supposed to remind him to sign up for fall league, but the first games are always about now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with missing out, assuming he forgot as well and didn’t just take care of it.”  
“There’s no games on the calendar. He’ll _act_ fine.” Sylvie replied with a snort. “Some days, I really wish my husband didn’t have ninety-five pounds of baggage he hauls around with him. I can’t fix it though, just apologize and…move on, I guess. I can’t believe I forgot him. It’s on my calendar. I swear, pregnancy brain has nothing on ‘two boys under two’ brain.”

“Exactly, and Matt – who also has two boys under two – will understand. Though, dear, I do hope you two are being more careful this time around. Another pregnancy so soon…”   
“God, Mom, don’t even think about that!” Sylvie closed her eyes, unable to even imagine that scenario. She loved her sons and she loved her husband, but no. Just no. No more pregnancy. At least, not for a very long time.

“Well, Alec wasn’t planned either, so I just worry.”  
“Trust me, that is not happening again. I have an IUD.” She paused, considering, but she really had few boundaries with her mother anyway. “And Matt and I aren’t having sex, well, not the kind of sex that can makes babies. We haven’t since I went on bed rest.”  
“Sylvie, that was April. It’s nearly November.”

“It’s just about mid-October, Mom.” Sylvie corrected, as if that really made it better. “It’s been a busy year but I know how long it has been.” In fact, she was absolutely certain that her birthday celebration in March was the last time they’d had penetrative sex. She hadn’t been feeling at all sexy, until very recently, and Matt had been incredibly understanding about it. She wondered if he was still so understanding or he just played the part of patient husband very well.   
“I’m not going to…well, I don’t want to be seen as interfering in your marriage, sweetie, but I don’t think that going that long is very good for a relationship. You said earlier you still felt some distance from Matt, do you think that’s why?”  
“Probably.” She sighed, having to admit that much. “He’s male, so I know he wants sex. Well, he’s male and he’s Matt, and I have a really good idea of his sex drive. But I’m ready now, and he’s pulled back. He said we were just waiting until tonight though – he wants to be absolutely completely sure my meds are fully working so I’m not in a mood or phase or whatever.”  
“He’s a very considerate husband.” Mom paused. “He’s also a little scared of you, dear.”  
“I know, I was so awful-“  
“No, not, well maybe a little bit of that, the recent things, but he’s always been a little scared of you. You have the greatest power in the world to hurt him, Sylvie, and he knows that. He just doesn’t see that he can hurt you the same way – by leaving, whether by divorce or God forbid something happens at work – so he doesn’t see it as a sort of balance between you.”  
“Are you doing like online counseling classes or something?”  
“No, I’m just older and wiser – and a little outside the situation, which helps. I wish I could tell you how to fix it, dear, but all I can say is talk to him, or get him to talk to you, whichever way you want to look at it. And for God’s sake, Sylvie, have sex with the man.”  
“Mom!”

“Love to you, and all three of your boys.” Mom hung up quickly, and Sylvie shook her head. What had happened to her supposedly conservative parents that now her mom was actually encouraging her to have sex? Okay, being in your thirties and married probably played some role in parental acceptance of the existence of a sex life. Still, it was a little weird.

* * *

“I’m sorry. I looked at the calendar today and realized…I should’ve known well before, but I forgot somehow. I’m sorry.” Sylvie tried to smile gently. Matt just shrugged, as he did that swaying bobbing thing to help settle Alec. The boys were sharing a room now that Alec had recently outgrown his bassinet, though Sylvie wondered more and more if that hadn’t been weird wishful thinking on her part: she’d insisted the boys share to ‘save’ the other upstairs bedroom for a future little daughter. Now, she didn’t know if she really wanted a third baby: just two was a lot. Either way, it meant that if one boy didn’t want to settle, crying it out wasn’t really an option unless they wanted two grumpy boys. Jack was fine this evening, already asleep upstairs. Alec had gone down, but had gotten back up about an hour later. It seemed like he just wanted a cuddle, he was quieting nicely in Matt’s arms. She paused to wonder what it was about Matt, because both boys slept better in his arms or on his chest than pretty much anywhere else. She shook it off, returning to her original point.  
“It’s not a big deal, Syl.” Matt said after a minute. “It’s been on the calendar for weeks. I got signed up.”  
“Oh. That’s good. When do your games start?”  
“Two weeks – I’m a couple leagues down this year, fewer matches, lower pace, and less guys pissed if I have to miss because of shift or something comes up with you and the boys.”

“But you’re pretty good, aren’t you playing below your level then?”  
“I’m not that good, babe.” He smiled at her, voice lowering as they walked back towards the boys’ room to put Alec back down. “Besides, I thought you’d appreciate the likelihood that the checks will be a little softer maybe.”  
“Just wear your helmet and no fighting. No concussions.”

“I really don’t think I’m as delicate as Dr. Johnson thinks. She’s a worrier.”  
“No, Matt, she’s a doctor. Did she clear you for hockey?”  
“Yes, she did – you ask that every year.” Matt replied softly, as he settled Alec into his crib. “Hey, reminds me though, Severide got ‘hawks tickets for Tuesday’s match, pretty much center ice and practically on the glass, and if you don’t mind staying home with the boys, he thought we’d go out and…act like idiot bachelors again, I guess.” Matt shrugged again.

“He and Stella aren’t-“  
“Shit, no.” Matt scoffed, as they headed back down the hall towards their own room. “He’s as caught as ever, don’t worry. I don’t know what’s up with him. He’s been sort of…around a lot. You haven’t noticed?”  
“I’ve been insanely oblivious, next-level self-involved.”  
“You were focused on your kids: two babies will do that.” Matt gave her the easy excuse. “Sev’s had us scheduled for something at least once a week for months. Usually little things. I guess he spent the big bucks for hockey this month – it should be fun, though.”

“I don’t mind keeping up with the boys by myself one night, Matt. You should go have fun.”  
“In a couple years, we’ll be taking the boys with us to see the Blackhawks play. We’ll skip the bar before and after, though.”  
“I hope so.” She chuckled, keeping her tone light, not wanting to sound at all like she might actually expect Matt to take the boys anywhere inappropriate.

“Are you sure you don’t mind being home alone? Severide will understand if-”

“I don’t think he will.” Sylvie shook her head. “Those are really good seats.”  
“He can take Stella.”  
“He’d rather go with you, clearly. Besides, Matt, you’ve taken a lot of the load lately, take a night off. It’s okay. Really.” She paused, then asked, “Just do me one favor?”  
“Sure, whatever you need.”  
“Uber. If you two are going out, I’d rather not have to worry about just how drunk the idiot bachelor night gets.”  
“I would never-“  
“I know, but I want you to have fun, and if you’re driving, you’ll be careful and I think I want you to be a little less careful all the time. Let loose a bit, Matt.”  
“Really?”  
“Mm-hmm.” She smiled at him, a sort of flirting smile that she hadn’t broken out in a very long time. She took his hand, leading him towards their bed. Subtlety was sometimes lost on Matt Casey, so while she didn’t exactly shove him onto the bed, she was pretty clear about what she wanted. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he got the message loud and clear. His free hand cupped the side of her face gently, and very slowly he brought their lips together. Everything was very gentle, in fact, for several minutes, as she let him lead. His hands were soft against her, his lips excruciatingly gentle, and she felt frustrated and teased, but in a good way.

“Matt.” She half-complained. “This is not letting loose.”  
“I love you.” He met her eyes fully. “I will always love you. No matter what happens. This life, our life, this is my happy ending. I just…I need to know you feel the same way. I’m a hard person to love-”

“No. You are so _easy_ to love, Matt.” She kissed him, keeping it gentle for now. “You are such a good man.”  
“That’s usually what people say just before they ditch me.” Matt pulled back from her slightly, looking a lot sadder than she ever wanted him to look in their bedroom. “If I’m so good, why leave me behind? I’ve never understood that. So I always figure, they’re telling me nice lies, trying to soften it, but I’d rather you just tell me I’m an asshole, because then I’d understand-”

“You’re not, okay, sometimes you can be a bit of an asshole. Everyone can.” Sylvie admitted that, because forthright and honest was definitely necessary right now. “You’re a good man, and sometimes, you’re so good, you let people…you let people abuse you, because you’re so strong and you’re so good, you know you can ‘take it’ and sometimes, Matt…” she trailed off, losing the ability to put her feelings into words for a moment, “I’m sorry for anything I ever said to hurt you, Matt, I’m sorry I was so awful, and I’m sorry for everything anyone ever did to hurt you, because you are the best man I’ve ever met, and that shouldn’t end up with you getting kicked in the teeth all the time. So if you need to know if this is my happy ending, Matt, yes.” She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes completely, and strengthening her voice, “Yes, Matt, this is my perfect happy ever after ending. I don’t just mean our boys, who I love beyond words of course, but you, me, us, this is everything to me, Matt. Everything I need, everything I want, everything I will ever want, I find it here, with you. That’s what I mean when I say you’re the foundation, Matt. I can build all my dreams from you, _with you_ , but without you, nothing-” She wasn’t actually done trying to tell him what he meant to her, but suddenly his tongue was in her mouth and he was apparently done listening. She’d wanted him to let loose, and she must’ve found the key or password or whatever, because he was trying to climb inside her body with her, his hands everywhere, and their mouths fused together. Her hands tugged blindly at his clothing, and his hands stripped her, and about the time they got naked, he finally pulled fully away from her mouth. He turned them slowly, putting his own back to their bed.

“You know,” Matt’s grin was definitely teasing, “I’m pretty sure you promised me that you were going to ride me until I explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July.”  
“I did, didn’t I?” She winked at him and pushed him backwards. He quite willingly fell back onto the bed. She shook off the distracting image he presented, and ordered him, “move back, head on the pillows, and arms straight out at the sides.”  
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt grinned widely and did as directed. She crawled onto the bed, and then up over his legs. His eyes watched her bare breasts more than her face. She sat up as she reached his midsection, letting her bare bottom rest against his erection. He shifted beneath her, already seeking friction.

“You like it when I’m on top, don’t you?”  
“So fucking hot.” Matt’s statement was both a reply and general commentary she knew.

“Which view do you like better, though?” She asked, running her hands up her body to cup her boobs. She very much overfilled her own hands now, but he definitely didn’t mind, as his pupils got wider. “The front view? Or,” Sylvie shifted over him, so her back faced him, and she bent over his legs, “do you like the back view?”  
“Fuck.”  
“That is not in question. Which view to start with?”  
“Start?”  
“Oh, Matt,” she looked over her shoulder at him. “If you think there’s only one explosion on the Fourth of July, you’ve really been missing out on fireworks shows all your life.” She let her weight rest on him, his hard cock parting her lips, though perpendicular to what he’d probably prefer. She slid minutely along him, enjoying the frissons of sensation along her nerves. She never forgot how big he was, but it never stopped feeling amazing between her legs, either. It certainly didn’t feel routine at this point – comfortable, yes, but a little new as well and mostly it felt very, very, good.

“That ass.” Matt said something more as well, but all she really heard was ‘ass’ and she leaned forward farther, letting her lips and tongue slide along the parts of his legs that she could easily reach.   
“Ass view first, huh?” She asked, as she sat back up a moment later, though her hands stayed resting on his thighs. She slid along him again, enjoying the full length of him. She was really wet, but she also unabashedly spit into her hand, lifting her weight up and slicking him quickly. He bucked beneath her, groaning loudly as her wet hand wrapped around his cock and spread what she could over him. She lined him up, and carefully down, stopping when the sharp twinge of him entering her became actual pain, God, it really had been a while, but then she just backed off a little bit, and tried again, getting a little farther, than repeating the process several times, enjoying the sounds Matt was making even more than she was enjoying the feeling of him inside her again, which was a bit painful but also absolutely perfect at the same time. It took what felt like several minutes of careful easing him into her, but then she was seated on him, feeling that fantastic stretch and the heat of him inside her.

“Oh, fuck, Sylvie, that’s…so good. So warm. So fucking tight.”  
“You feel so perfect inside me, Matt. Like the best ‘welcome home’ feeling ever, like I never want you to leave me.” She kept her hands on his thighs for balance, and began to move up and down, starting with smaller movements and quickly following the dictates of her body and practically pulling off of him just to slam quickly back down, and his hands were on her hips and her ass, guiding or helping or just plain feeling her up, all three really, and he was helping her set the pace for sure, faster and faster, as he thrust up into her, to match her rhythm above him, but then he pulled her down hard, keeping her against him and his dick buried as deep in her as he could be from this position, and it set her nerves singing in a way that was delicious but also just a little too deep, but his hands pulled her into him, she couldn’t lift up.

“Control?” She shook her head, then looked over her shoulder at him.

“What?” She must’ve missed something he said.

“What, fuck, stop doing that, I can’t think.”  
“Doing what?” She wasn’t doing anything.

“Your pussy keeps that, that gripping massaging thing and I can’t.”  
“I can’t help it, I think I’m kind of coming a bit.” Sylvie admitted, as she was trying to writhe a bit, caught herself doing it but didn’t care because it really did feel like a minor constant rippling orgasm through her body right now.

“What birth control?”  
“Huh?”  
“What’s, what’re you using, Sylvie?” Matt managed a bit more coherence, though it sounded like he was really having to force himself to concentrate. “I don’t have a condom on and I’m not gonna last.”  
“Not trusting condoms and your giant dick.” Sylvie replied, “I got an IUD, a few weeks ago, the copper one, no more hormones added. It’s, fuck, you feel so good, Matt, it’s over 99% effective and can stay in for years so no condoms, just your cock inside me and yes, that’s perfect, yes,” she continued rambling, she was pretty sure she was giving him a running commentary as he released her hips and she just let her body go, chasing the sensations and her pleasure and riding his cock as hard as she could. She heard him, more quietly than her but still almost making sense as he talked about her ass, and she got approval out of it but other than that, she didn’t worry about what he was saying. She just kept moving up and down on him until she felt him completely lose the rhythm and then she felt him coming inside her. The gloriously familiar feeling of his cock twitching spasmodically inside her sent her into a nice orgasm of her own – not earth-shattering but still very pleasant – and she rode a bit more gently to ease herself through it, but also prolong it a bit. She stood up, her feet to either side of his thighs, and bent over him, stretching muscles that hadn’t seen such use in far too long.

“Fuck.” Matt nearly sent her tumbling as he suddenly sat up, and she had to grab the bed for balance as he pulled her back to meet him, his face buried between her legs and she had not been prepared for his tongue inside her, all over her, and a small secondary orgasm ran through her suddenly, like an unexpected wonderful aftershock.   
“Matt, what-“  
“Fuck.” He repeated, but dove back in, and she took another few minutes to gather enough brain power and balance to use one hand to tug firmly on his balls because that would definitely get his attention.

“Ouch, and not a fun ouch.” Matt pulled back, but he didn’t sound really hurt, just a little aggravated. She took advantage of the loosening of his grip to turn around so she was at least facing him now, though with him sitting up she was basically straddling his face, which clearly gave him ideas. He dove back in but looked puzzled when she tugged as hard as she could on his short hair.

“I’m not done riding you, mister. I told you, I’m going to ride you ‘til you beg for mercy. That did not involve you eating me out, though it is a pleasant diversion.”  
“Sorry to ruin your plans but your pussy just looked too good, open and wet and dripping my cum like that, I couldn’t help it.”  
“It really doesn’t bother you that…I mean, after?”  
“Why would it? It’s my cum.” Matt shrugged, his broad smile looking very comfortable with his admission, “I think it’s fucking hot, tasting both of us. Does it bother you?”  
“If I’ve learned one thing since starting with you, Matt, it’s that your tongue and my pussy are a combination that I will always love.”  
“So can I?” He gestured and she laughed lightly.   
“No, you can’t. Lay back, I still owe you the front view.”

“Huh?”  
“Were you listening at all?”  
“My brain short-circuited about the time you got naked.”  
“You just got the rear view, and while it sounded like you approved-“  
“Your ass bouncing on me, fuck, Sylvie, approved is not the word.”  
“Let’s see how you feel about watching my tits bounce as I give you the front view.”  
“Fuck.” He fell backward, as if her words had knocked him over. “You’re seriously gonna…?  
“Oh, I’m seriously gonna ride you until you beg for mercy, absolutely.” She replied with what she hoped was a saucy wink and a smile.

“Can I…are they Matt-land or baby-land?”  
“Hands yes, let’s not try your mouth just yet.” She wasn’t sure how she’d react to his mouth on her yet, it had been a big block when Jack was a baby, and she did not want anything to mar this night at all. She straddled him but didn’t yet put his half-hard cock back inside her. His eyes focused on her tits as she leaned over. “You really like my tits, don’t you?”  
“I always have.” He dragged his eyes to hers. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”  
“But you kind of like them bigger, admit it.” She sat back up, but this time brought his hands up to cup her breasts. They were more than a handful even for him, now.

“Fuck me.” Matt breathed, his hand started gentle but were soon exerting more force as he caressed her tits. She could feel him re-harden beneath her. She shifted, grabbed his dick, and although he wasn’t entirely hard yet, he’d finish getting there inside her, and she was ready for him again.

“All you have to do tonight is decide is which you like better – watching my ass bounce as I ride you, or watching my tits bounce as I ride you. Well, that and give me at least one more load inside my pussy, and hopefully another in my mouth.”  
“I love you.” He clearly meant it, even as his back arched a bit as she settled onto his cock once more.

“I love you, too.” She leaned forward, kissing him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth to tangle with his as she started moving on him. As great as it felt, it would not give him a great view by which to decide however, and she had given him a challenge. She sat back up. “But you still have to decide, Matt, which you’d rather watch while I ride you – ass or tits.”  
“I love your ass, but I can already tell you, definitely,” Matt broke off for a second, his hands never stopping their attentions to her breasts, though he was being a little bit careful of her nipples, she noticed, “if your ass is an 11 out of 10, your tits are like a 20.” After that, coherent conversation wasn't exactly high on either of their lists of priorities. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there will be plot again...soon even. Well, as soon as I can get writing time again. The weather in Texas kind of stopped life for about a week, and now it's basically one unexpected giant traffic jam of stuff that needs doing. I WILL finish (the fic is entirely outlined, and a few more chapters are nearly complete already) but there continue to be delays in my usual posting schedule. I apologize for that, and hope you're all still enjoying the fic.


	12. Coolest Uncle Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the delays...it's been an interesting couple weeks, let's just leave it at that.

Saturday before Halloween, Matt got called out to Mrs. Danvers’ house in the early afternoon. Apparently, she needed some bit of repair done before she left for Arizona, as one of her granddaughters was getting married there next week. Matt had gone over, promising that he would be home in time to have dinner before they had to head over to Molly’s. He’d spent the morning prepping the basement for the girls’ party: some classic Halloween movies, plenty of junk food, and a variety of alcoholic beverages that suited college-age (or nearly) girls. Sylvie had been amused but not very surprised by the fact that Matt did research into what to provide in the way of alcohol. His whiskey was firmly off-limits, not that she had any belief whatsoever that having tasted it last year the girls were at all interested in his whiskey. He had acquired some Twisted Tea, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, White Claw (Mango, Black Cherry, and Tangerine), Smirnoff Ice, some cola and rum, and a few other types of alcohol Sylvie hadn’t paid that much attention to. He also had signed permission slips from each girls’ parents, including an acknowledgement that the girls would be essentially locked in and the only males in the house would be Matt, Jack, and Alec. The goal was to let the girls get drunk for the first time in the safest situation Matt could conjure for his niece and her friends. Sylvie was also pretty sure, based on things Violet had said, that it was confirming his place as the ‘coolest uncle ever’ in the eyes of a bunch of teenage girls.

Sylvie had agreed to dress up on-theme with Cindy and Stella. The Herrmann kids were now old enough (Kenny was ten, which made her feel old, he’d been a toddler when she started at 51) that they didn’t even need a babysitter to stay by themselves, since Cindy was not going to be out that late. Sylvie had asked the girls to arrive by 6 pm, so she had time to get ready and make sure they knew everything they needed to know before she and Matt headed across to Molly’s. Sylvie cooked a quick dinner, and Matt just barely made it back from Mrs. Danvers’ to sit down exactly on time with her and Jack. Alec was still too young for solids at all, so Sylvie pumped once more to stock up on plenty for the girls but also for long enough to get any alcohol she drank tonight out of her system. Jack was fully weaned now, and no, she was not depriving her child, thank you very much judgmental fellow moms online, because Jack had no real interest and when Sylvie had once floated the idea to Matt that breastfeeding was useful to help calm toddlers, Matt had looked at her and just said “you want to teach our kid to _eat_ his feelings?” and “wouldn’t cuddling, attention, and the physical comfort of ‘nursing’ without actual breastfeeding work?” and sure enough, it pretty much did. So, no, her toddler did not still breastfeed and if she’d had it out with a mom online who insisted that any mother who stopped breastfeeding before school-age was harming her child, so what? Maybe it wasn’t actually only Matt she’d vented a bit of hormones on. Either way, her boys were both set up and ready to go by 6pm when Violet and Sadie arrived. Matt was upstairs, grabbing a quick shower, and Sylvie let them both in the front door.

“Hi, Aunt Sylvie.”

“Hi, Mrs. Casey.”  
“Girls, thank you so much for being here so early. Did you eat yet?”  
“We’re kind of planning on eating a ton later so…we had a small dinner, before we left my house.” Sadie shrugged. “I live just over in Sheffield Neighbors, so the Uber here took like 7 minutes.”

“Okay, well, the boys are both still awake. Alec has about half an hour before we start his bedtime routine. Jack’s on a pretty similar schedule, they’re both pretty much going to sleep while you’re here.” Sylvie couldn’t help sounding a little apologetic. Two babysitters felt like overkill for sleeping babies.

“Vi-et.” As if on cue, Jack toddled into the room, probably looking for Sylvie but clearly happy to see his cousin.  
“Hi, Jack!” Violet picked him up, accepting with all due grace the arms flung around her neck for a Jack attack hug. “This is my friend Sadie. She’s going to hang out with us tonight, okay?”  
“Tay.”  
“He’s going through a bit of a phase of separation anxiety, more with your uncle than me, so Matt’ll be down in a little while to do bedtime routines. Alec is in his swing, if you want to see the boys awake.”  
“Can I hold him?” Sadie asked. “I love babies. Not like I want one of my own for like a decade, but I love babysitting.”  
“Go ahead, if he starts to fuss, he probably needs a diaper change.”  
“We’ll take him upstairs, I know how, and where things are. Uncle Matt showed me.” Violet assured her. “Go get ready, you guys have a party, right?”  
“Syl, have you – oh, hi, girls.” Matt did his usual near-bounce down the stairs, barefoot and shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower. He kissed Violet’s cheek quickly, before turning his attention to Sylvie, “have you seen my Led Zeppelin t-shirt?”  
“It’s folded on the dryer, I just haven’t brought it upstairs yet.” Sylvie told him.

“Perfect.” He headed towards the basement door, “Babe, you need me to bring anything up for you?”  
“No, thanks.” Sylvie replied. She turned back to the girls. “I’m going to start getting ready, my outfit is – as always – a lot more complicated than his. Guys have it so much easier. No baths tonight, we already did those before dinner, just keep them entertained until storytime.”  
“No problem. We’ve got this, Aunt Sylvie.”

The girls did wonderfully, even managing to get both boys ready for bed without any fuss, at least until Jack feared that he might get put to bed without storytime. Sylvie missed out, still getting dressed but she could hear Matt reading to both boys for several minutes, then his promises that Mommy would come in to kiss both boys goodnight before they went out for a little while. Matt patiently explained – a few times over, despite Jack having been told earlier in the day – that Mommy and Daddy were going to a party and Violet and Sadie would be there if the boys needed anything at all. Jack wasn’t really used to having very many babysitters, but he seemed to take the idea pretty well. She finished getting ready and met Matt in the upstairs hallway as he was coming out of the boys’ room as she was heading in to say goodnight.

“What do you think?” She asked, seeing him looking her up and down.

“I think that costume is making me want to take you to bed, not to Molly’s.”  
“Matt.” She looked down, it wasn’t a particularly ‘sexy’ costume, officially a ‘Swiss Miss Beer Maid’ costume with a long red skirt that brushed the floor, a white off-the-shoulder blouse, and a black corset with some ‘German-ish’ decorations that cut under her boobs.

“You look sexy as hell in a corset.” Matt shrugged, grinning completely unapologetically.

“Yeah, well, that t-shirt shrunk in the dryer and is doing nice things for you as well.” It really was. He had gotten leaner in the last few months, and the t-shirt clung to his muscles nicely, emphasizing the gradual narrowing from his shoulders to his waist. “But, we have a party to get to, and I need to say good night to my boys.”  
“I’m going to make sure the girls are good for us to go, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”  
“See you in a few minutes then.”  
  
They made it over to Molly’s by a little after 7. It wasn’t busy yet, even on a Saturday with the big Halloween bash scheduled, but it wasn’t empty either – and probably going to fill up fast. Along with dressing up, Sylvie had agreed to play to the theme, and help out as a drinks runner-cum-waitress for the night. Herrmann wasn’t exactly going to pay her, but she didn’t mind doing a favor, especially not since the costume was getting precisely the reaction she wanted: if Matt’s eyes dropped any farther into her cleavage, they’d fall clean out of his head. She familiarized herself with the holiday-themed specialty cocktails quickly. The Blood Peach Bellini was new this year, so was the Beetlejuice (mostly bright green) and the ‘Black Widow’ for which Otis had apparently made black vodka (which Sylvie didn’t know existed before now). Last year’s Jack-o-Lantern was back, and the apparently perennial favorite (Sylvie’s definitely) Zombie Bite was also there. While Molly’s wasn’t usually a cocktails kind of bar, Herrmann gave in on the theme nights because the bar was partly Otis’ too and also because they made money. She had just delivered a tray full of Black Widow margaritas to a table full of women who were clearly on the prowl tonight when she passed by Matt’s barstool. He pulled her against him tightly.

“Herrmann does know his beer wench is going home with me at 10 o’clock, right?”  
“He does.” Sylvie grinned up at Matt. “I’m just helping out a bit, and we take offense at being called wenches.”  
“Oh, you do?” Matt chuckled, then kissed her lightly. “Have I mentioned how fantastic you look in a corset?”  
“Only about half a dozen times tonight.” Sylvie laughed, “and the fact that you can’t keep your eyes off my chest kind of drives the point home.”  
“You’re not even dressed to show much skin, it’s just so fucking hot.” Matt growled a little and kissed her more firmly. “Sit with me for a bit, Herrmann will understand.”

“I have two more tables, then I can come back here and be your own personal wench.”  
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”  
“Good.” She kissed him quickly, then went back to helping Stella deal with the rush.

* * *

It was nearly ten-thirty before they actually got away from Molly’s. Matt was pretty damned sober, though Sylvie was not – she wasn’t silly drunk, but she was drunk enough to be unable to keep her hands from wandering underneath Matt’s shirt on the walk back to their house. That t-shirt really did show off his lean but muscular physique nicely, and she’d caught a few women checking him out over the night. For his part, Matt simply kept her tucked into his side, and arm across her shoulders, as he opened the front door for her.

“Sorry we’re late, Molly’s is a bit of a mad house.” Matt apologized quickly to the girls. Violet and Sadie were in the living room, almost looking patient as they waited to be cleared to go to their own party downstairs.

“Everyone else, except Lucy and Chloe, are downstairs. They’re supposed to be here at eleven, remember. I told them to text, not use the doorbell, in case it wakes the boys.” Violet and Sadie jumped up from the sofa and headed towards them.

“How’d the boys do?” Sylvie asked.

“Quiet. Jack was a little upset after you left, but I let him listen to a couple more stories on his tablet and I hope that isn’t a problem, but it calmed him down.”  
“Ah, you learned the magic trick.” Sylvie laughed. “Daddy’s voice works like a charm. There is no sleep until he’s had his fill of story-time with Daddy.”

“Yes, my voice puts him right to sleep, very flattering.” Matt replied drolly. He smiled, though, and waved the girls towards the kitchen and the stairs down to the basement. “Off you go, girls, keep the noise down.”

“Uhm, Uncle Matt?” Violet asked, looking a little nervous. “Can you, uh, show us how to mix some things right? Maddie read this thing online about how like, the wrong mix can kill you or something.”  
“That’s extremely unlikely, but I’ll be down to make sure you’ve got everything started safely in a few minutes. Let me check on the boys and get your aunt off to bed as well-“  
“I’m not even drunk, Matt.” Sylvie rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’m going to have a house full of drunk women tonight.” Matt laughed. “You, upstairs. Girls, downstairs. And stay out of my liquor cabinet up here.”  
“You drink _gross_ stuff, Mr. Casey.” Sadie wrinkled her nose, as she and Violet headed downstairs. Sylvie led the way upstairs, giving her ass a bit of extra sway and bounce as she knew Matt was right behind her, though maybe it lost some effect in the full-length skirt.

“Wriggling your ass like that is not helping.” He grabbed her hips once they were upstairs, pulling her back into his body.  
“Helping what?”

“My willpower to go downstairs and actually check on the girls right away, or even to remember we have company tonight. All I really want is to strip you out of that costume,” Matt paused to kiss her, then pulled back, “except I think I want you to put that corset back on by itself, then I want to fuck you until you wake the neighbors.”  
“Sounds promising.” Sylvie winked at him. “I’m going to check on the boys, and I really do not need help getting undressed. Why don’t you go check on the girls?”

* * *

“Alright, everyone has their first official alcoholic drink, the music is playing, bad dancing is already begun, and until hangovers tomorrow, I am officially the coolest uncle the world has ever seen and _fuck me_.” Matt stopped dead, two steps into the master bedroom. Sylvie had decided to do exactly as he’d suggested. She’d taken off her costume, only to put just the corset part back on, and was doing her best to look casually draped across their bed. That look, that attacked but loving it look, on Matt’s face was exactly her goal. He was literally speechless. She stood up, walking towards him.

“Your personal wench, at your service, as promised.” She smiled broadly and winked at him, as she gently pulled him by the hand so he was fully inside, and she could shut the door behind him. The girls wouldn’t come upstairs, and Jack was unlikely to wake up and come looking for them, but still, shutting the door seemed liked a good idea. The ‘corset’ on the costume was cut entirely beneath the bust, so to say her ‘outfit’ was obscene was a bit of an understatement.

“Fuck me.”  
“That is the general idea, yes.” Sylvie did a little turn for him, letting him see her from behind as well. “Does it live up to your expectations?”  
“Fuck.”  
“You’re stuck on that word.” She giggled; she couldn’t help it.

“ _Fuck_.”

“You are wearing too many clothes. But I think I can help you with that.” She kissed him softly, then proceeded to do just that, stripping him efficiently. She kept the ‘corset’ on while she rode him this time, enjoying the way his eyes and hands never seemed to leave her tits. She was exhausted by the time she’d ridden him to orgasm (and two of her own), but there was something wonderfully satisfying in not just the orgasm, but the way she felt normality returned, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself just a little.

* * *

“What’s so funny?” Matt asked lightly, shifting onto his side so he could look at her as she lay on her back next to him.  
“I just realized that I feel like we’re getting back to normal pretty much because I can make you come so hard your eyes roll back in your head like a shark’s and I’m not sure that’s actually normal for anyone but us.”  
“Who else’s normal even matters?” Matt asked, leaning in to kiss her softly. “And I wasn’t the only one whose eyes were rolling back, by the way, and I really hope the girls’ music was loud enough to block out anything from up here. You are not good at being quiet.”  
“Hmm.” Sylvie had to admit that much. She really wasn’t, at least, not with Matt. She didn’t know if it was that the sex was really that much better, or if how much she loved this man made the sex seem that much better, but she didn’t really care. “I suck at being quiet and you suck at being quick, we all have weaknesses.”  
“I’ve gotten good at being quick lately.” Matt scoffed, looking over at the clock. “That was less than fifteen minutes start to finish.”  
“I’m not sure most parents of two young children would consider less than fifteen minutes too quick,” Sylvie pointed out, “and given that a few days ago you were more like five minutes from start to finish, I think once you get used to being back on the sauce – so to speak – you’ll go back to being Mister Marathon. Besides, I came even faster than you did, so I can’t exactly complain.”  
“I need to get redressed. Check on the girls in a bit.”  
“Uhm, no.” She kissed him soundly.

“Sylvie, I can’t just come to bed, I promised the girls’ parents I’d do regular checks.”  
“I know that, I meant no, you can’t just get redressed. You need a shower. You smell like sex.”  
“None of those girls should even know what that smells like.”  
“Uh-huh. Because all seniors in high school are completely virginal, Matt.”  
“My niece and her friends are.”  
“You don’t even believe that.”  
“No, I don’t.” Matt admitted. “If I think about it too much, I want to do a lot more to terrorize Daniel.”  
“You were seventeen when you lost your virginity. And besides, if Daniel and Violet have had sex, at least she had sex with a boy you like – I know you like him, don’t pull that face,” Sylvie laughed a little at Matt’s pretense at disliking Daniel, “and who she really seems to love, for her first time. He’s a good kid.”  
“He is. I just…I can’t decide if I’m more proud of the young woman she is, or I miss the little girl I…well, I didn’t really know her when she was a little girl. And I worry. The consequences are so much worse for a girl, or can be, and it’s like this drinking thing. At least if they get drunk in my house the first time, they know what it feels like and how it might affect judgment, before they start going to parties with men who might hurt them.”  
“Most men are good guys, Matt.”  
“It only takes one. One guy can victimize a lot of women, Syl, we’ve had plenty of evidence of that in recent years in the news. And no, I don’t think Daniel would hurt her, intentionally, but sex opens you up in ways that…” Matt paused. Sylvie let him gather his thoughts. She’d learned to be silent for a bit with Matt, let him know he had time to get it right. “I wasn’t ready for it, anyway, maybe she’s in a better place than I was. Definitely a better partner.”  
“She loves Daniel. It might or might not be a permanent love, but it’s love.”  
“Did you love your first? You’ve never even told me who it was.”  
“It was Jacob Hendrickson, and we were both seniors in high school. We dated for all of senior year, actually, then went separate directions for college and broke up. It was really awkward and embarrassing, and a lot messier than I expected, but it was also really sweet and I don’t regret it.”  
“You loved him?”  
“I thought I did.” Sylvie admitted that much. “Looking back, I liked him a lot, but I’m not sure it was love. Really, though, it was a good experience. Not to…prod at a bruise or something, but Matt, your experience was a little different than Violet’s will be – or was, whichever.”  
“You know what’s really weird? I didn’t even know her first name. She had to tell me, must’ve been the third or fourth time I called her ‘Mrs. Garvin’ when we were having sex, or well, actually before the actual sex but, she had to tell me her name. My first time, and I barely knew her first name.” Matt shook his head.

“You know, she took advantage of you.”  
“That’s overstating it a bit.” Matt kissed her softly. “I know you disapprove, but-“  
“Matt, imagine it was you. You’re about the age she was, right? So, we have drunk – or getting that way – seventeen-year-old girls in our house tonight,”  
“Sylvie, don’t even go there, that’s just…I’m going to go shower and clean the very thought of that off of me.”  
“Exactly. Now, tell me the adult in that situation wasn’t skeezy as hell. She got you drunk and took advantage.” Sylvie argued, while Matt got out of bed and headed towards the master bath.

“I wasn’t exactly coerced.” Matt replied. “It was weird, but it wasn’t that, Sylvie.”  
“It kind of was.” Sylvie muttered under her breath. The longer she’d had that playing at the back of her mind, the more it truly bothered her that Matt’s first time had been both drunk and with a woman at least twenty years his senior. Still, pushing him on it, especially given how delicate parts of their own relationship was right now, was not going to be worth any argument. Besides, it was long in the past and it didn’t seem to bother him as much as it bothered her, so it wasn’t worth worrying about so much, maybe at all. Not like she could change it.

* * *

Sylvie was up early, as usual, the next day. The thing about very young children, they rarely allowed their parents to sleep in much. She wasn’t sure Matt had slept very much through the night. He’d stayed up, checking on the girls at regular intervals, until very early in the morning. She thought it had been 3 am or later before he came upstairs to stay. He usually got up when she did, with Alec’s first meal at 5:30 am, but today he was sleeping soundly still. She was looking forward to when Alec’s stomach lasted longer, and he slept later. She took Alec downstairs, trying to let Matt sleep as late as possible, though he’d probably get up to go to mass at 8 am anyway. He’d started taking Jack with him on Sundays, leaving her with just Alec. Matt always reported Jack was well-behaved, though she knew he totally bribed their toddler with a stop by the playground equipment at the parish school. Still, if he slept until his usual Sunday alarm at 6:30, that was an extra hour.

Matt and Jack were back from mass and already changed out of their church clothes before there was any signs or sounds of life from downstairs. Alec was in his swing, and Sylvie was entertaining Jack, while Matt cooked a firehouse-worthy breakfast for the girls. They all looked a little hungover but nothing too bad.

“You’ll want to eat something, girls, trust me.” Matt gestured to the stack of plates he’d already set out. “Pancakes are coming up regularly, bacon’s ready, scrambled eggs, and the potatoes, and there’s baked apples as well as fruit salad. Grab some juice, too – apple, orange, and cranberry, or plain water.”  
“Thanks, Mr. Casey.” Sadie led the way, clearly the most comfortable with the house and with Matt, well, besides Violet, who was at the back of the pack coming upstairs.  
“I usually have milk with breakfast.” Maddie sounded a little uncertain.  
“I don’t really recommend milk with a hangover.” Matt shook his head. “And you all look a little hungover. Welcome to the morning after the night before. If you’re going to drink, get familiar with this feeling.”  
“It’s not…completely awful.” Violet shrugged.

“That’s because you were all drunk without being stupidly drunk.” Matt pointed out.

“What’s stupidly drunk?” One of the twins, Sylvie didn’t know which was which, asked.

“Probably the level when you get stupid.” Her sister pointed out.

“At your experience level? About one more drink than most of you had.” Matt laughed lightly. “I cut you all off at 3 am and made you drink water, then go to bed. At most parties, no one is going to do that, and you end up a lot drunker than you thought because you don’t stop until you pretty much go to bed.”  
“I recommend a friend who tells you ‘no’ on that last drink of the night.” Sylvie added helpfully.

“It was fun, though. We had fun.” Sadie announced, as the girls piled plates with food.

“Yeah, thanks for having us all over, Mr. Casey.” Maddie said, and there was a chorus of similar statements from all the girls.

“So, what did you all learn?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised.

“That Violet has the coolest uncle _ever_.” Isabella declared.  
“That Sophie and Lucy can breakdance!” Maddie laughed.

“Chloe knows all the words _and_ the dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller.” Violet chimed in.

“Vodka has to be mixed with something to be drinkable.” Chloe contributed that pearl.

“Your whisky still tastes really gross, Mr. Casey.” Sadie volunteered. “I don’t know why you and my dad think it’s good. Are you sure you haven’t like lost your sense of taste after being a firefighter, like from smoke or something? Oh, think of that tragic story. It would be such a great like Lifetime movie.”  
“My tastebuds are fine.” Matt laughed. “You might develop a taste for it, you might not.”  
“Never. Totally gross.”

“You let them try your scotch?” Sylvie asked, surprised.  
“Sadie asked, and she and Isabella were the only brave ones to try a dram – less, like a half ounce pour.” Matt replied. “Neither liked it, though.”  
“Oh, God, tell me you did not give them the Laphroaig. It’s nasty, Matt. Like smoky Robitussin.”  
“Yes! That’s it!” Sadie agreed vehemently.

“At least this way, Sadie can tell her dad she tried the good stuff.” Matt shrugged. “I don’t think he actually expects his teenage daughter to love peated whisky.”  
“There’s some serious leftovers, Uncle Matt.” Violet pointed out. Sylvie had kind of expected that – Matt was kind of an over-preparer. “Can we, like, have New Years’ Eve at your house?”

“YES!” Sylvie laughed, as the girls all spoke over and around one another, planning an even bigger bash for New Years. Apparently, alcohol had gone over a treat. She had a feeling, based on Matt’s look at her, that he was going to give in and host another party for Violet – if nothing else, he loved being a ‘cool uncle’ and finally having a real connection with his niece that he’d missed out on for all those years of tension with Christie. Matt, perhaps more than most, was well aware that time with loved ones could be fleeting for any number of reasons, and Violet was going to go off to college soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story doesn't seem to be going down as well as my previous stories, by any measure. I'm working back up the motivation to keep writing the last several chapters (outlined, but not written fully). I will finish this story, I promise. It's also going to be a bit lighter in these closing chapters, so for those of you finding it a bit hard to read, hopefully these latter bits will redeem the fic for you.


	13. Pryaniki

They threw the biggest party Molly’s had ever seen to celebrate Otis finally asking Lily to marry him. Thank God Christie had been available to watch the boys over night at her house because this was the party of the year, for sure. The drinks flowed freely, and she did not want to have to go home to her perfect little boys. It was nice to feel completely irresponsible again, like before they had kids and they could go home completely drunk and not be horrible neglectful parents. Plus, she had a feeling that at least a few of the people from 51 would end up crashing at their house. Molly’s was closed to the public, though it was packed full of people celebrating Otis and Lily, the lack of public witnesses led to a lot of relaxing, even Matt. That and the amount of vodka he’d had (in some sort of ‘tribute’ to Otis, everyone at 51 was drinking vodka drinks) likely explained the fact that he seemed incapable of keeping his hands to himself. He’d been off preparing something in the kitchen, well, she knew what it was, but had thought it was completed already and what he could possibly be fiddling with now, while this drunk, she had no clue. He was definitely drunk, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, and his hands wandered, a lot.

“Hey, babe.” He kissed her cheek, then her neck. 

“You can just stop right there.” She leaned back into his chest, tilting her head up to meet his eyes at least a little bit. “Your left hand can stay south of there, mister.”  
“Your legs look fantastic. They feel even better.” His hand was running up her thigh, under her skirt, and she really hoped that the table was mostly obscuring what he was doing.   
“You’re really drunk.” She replied, nudging his hand back towards her knee.

“Yes, I am. That does not change how fucking hot you are.” He was kissing down her neck now to her shoulder.   
“I think it might, a little.” She had to laugh. Still, it wasn’t exactly a bad thing, knowing that your husband when inhibitions dropped and he was all honesty, still really wanted you, even after two kids. She didn’t resist as he turned her around so she was facing him. He looked so earnest, drunk but earnest. It was a look she thought only Matt Casey, the King of Earnestness, could quite pull off.   
“I love you with everything I have. I respect you, as a woman, as my wife, as the mother of my sons. I also really want to fuck you until you scream, right now.”   
“You were being so romantic for a minute.” She laughed, though, because it was so Matt Casey to lead with all the sweet and genuine emotions and finish up with an equally genuine but less sweet emotion. She kissed him firmly but not deeply. “Good thing for you I have it on good authority you’re going to get lucky tonight.”  
“Really?” His eyes lit up, and he looked like he might be thinking about pouncing on her right now.   
“Mm-hmm. After the party, though, not during.” She paused. “Presuming you’re not too drunk to get it up by that point tonight.”  
“Have you ever known me to have problems in that regard?” Matt looked genuinely offended.  
“There’s a first time for everything, and I think you’re drunker than I’ve ever seen you, too.”

“Otis’ brothers drink a lot of vodka. I thought Irishmen can drink, but apparently, the Russians are also fans of their drink. I'm out of practice, I usually stick to beer maybe one or two scotches.” Matt shrugged lightly. “I’m not uncoordinated or anything yet, but I’m definitely drunk.”

“Do you get uncoordinated?” She asked, unable to imagine Matt particularly clumsy. Socially, he was capable of quite a bit of awkwardness, but physically he was fantastically coordinated.

“Everyone does if they get drunk enough.” Matt shrugged again. “It takes a lot of alcohol, though, for me. My decisions go first.”  
“Decisions?”  
“Yep. I do things I wouldn’t normally do. Like how much I really want to run my hand up your thigh and see what-“  
“Don’t even think about it, mister.”  
“You can’t keep me from thinking about it.” Matt teased her with a smile, but his hand also did not go any further up her thigh. “You really are the sexiest woman in here, you know that?”  
“I don’t think I am, but,” Sylvie kissed him quickly. “I like that you still think that.”

“I’m happy.” Matt announced, almost randomly, after a moment of silence, just holding her close to him.

“Okay.”   
“You’ve been worried about me being unhappy, I know it, but I’m happy, Sylvie. For us, because we’re both in good places now, and for myself, because I’m a lucky son of a bitch, and I’m happy for Otis, who finally is making an honest woman out of Lily, and I’m happy for Sev and Kidd, and-“  
“Wait, what did Kelly and Stella do to be happy for?” Sylvie cut him off.  
“Uh, nothing…sort of.” Matt hedged, poorly, but then, he was pretty drunk. He clearly knew something, but she didn't want to push him. She was still a little worried about straining any trust between them. “He’s being…well, he’s being Severide, worried he’s gonna be Benny or something stupid. But you know, they’ve been together for five years, which is like triple any of Sev’s previous relationships. So that’s something to be happy about. I’m just happy.”  
“You’re _drunk_. I like happy drunk Matt.” Sylvie decided. She’d seen Matt drunk often enough, she supposed, but it usually devolved into dirty-drunk-Matt, which wasn’t far off, given his hands once again had to be corralled to keep them out from her skirt. At least he was mostly being discreet.   
“You _make_ me happy.” He smiled at her, so genuinely and sweetly, and she had to kiss him.  
"I'm glad, because you make me happy, too." Sylvie told him, running her fingers through his hair lightly. "You really don't know how much you're loved, Matt. I wish you did. As long as you're happy, though, then I'm happy. I think you're moving from happy to filthy, though, I can see it in your eyes."  
"I can be both. I can definitely be both. The filthier you get, the happier I get, by the way."  
"I'm sure you do." She laughed at him, but kissed him. "We have a lot of party to get through, Matt. Just behave."  
"Will you spank me if I don't?" Matt teased.  
"Not in public."

* * *

It wasn’t much later that Matt’s ‘surprise’ for the newly-engaged couple was revealed. Otis had known it existed, of course, because Matt didn’t really like to surprise people and certainly not at their own party, but Sylvie hadn’t even seen it beyond Matt’s extensive plans and helping craft the raw material, and she was pretty sure Otis had not seen it, though other people might have. In fact, Matt had recruited a few people to help make all the necessary ingredients. Herrmann and Kidd held open the doors to the kitchen, both of them grinning wildly, and Matt wheeled out an impressively sized recreation of St. Basil’s Cathedral. On the cart, it was a bit taller than Matt, all in all about four feet tall. Sylvie had almost forgotten Matt had promised to build it for Otis if he ever got up the courage to ask Lily – Matt had not forgotten, and set about doing it once the date for the engagement party was set. He'd been working on it for days, getting it all to scale and decorating it so that all the spires were in the correct colors and patterns, though he’d had a lot of help with the fondant as he was not actually a baker, just the builder.

“Matt, it looks amazing! How are we supposed to eat it?” Lily asked, hugging Matt as soon as he had stepped far enough away from the wheeled cart the construction was on.

“Break off pieces.” Matt shrugged, but he was grinning, too.

“Captain, this is…it’s incredible.” Otis was almost speechless, which was pretty unusual.

“So, staying on theme, it’s not actually gingerbread, or it’s not American gingerbread anyway. I found out that Russians have their own version, called pryaniki I think,”  
“Close enough,” Otis laughed lightly.

“So, I got Cindy, Sylvie, a few other women I know, to follow the recipe I found for it, so it’s almost authentically Russian.” Matt paused, then shrugged. “Built by an Irishman, but mostly Russian.”

“It’s perfect.” Lily hugged him again. Sylvie had to laugh when Otis’ family all started hugging him, taking pictures with the thing, and generally fussing over it so much that Matt was visibly uncomfortable. She was grateful some of it was in Russian (Otis’ grandmother spoke no English, so the Zvonoceks were using a lot of Russian tonight, but she was talking at and around Matt for several minutes, kept patting his cheek and by the way Otis was chuckling, it was an amusing bit of commentary) as that meant at least Matt had little idea of how substantial any compliments might be. The man simply had no clue how to take a compliment. 

“She says if he wasn’t married, she has granddaughters who need a good man.” Otis’ mom translated from next to her. Sylvie knew his parents a little bit, given they’d been roommates, and she smiled at the explanation.

“If he wasn’t married, my mother would’ve had him set up with any number of girls in my hometown.” Sylvie replied, speaking only the truth. It was hard to imagine her parents had once been reluctant about her relationship with Matt, since now they were the proudest in-laws ever. Granted, Matt was a big part of why they had grandsons to spoil, but she knew Mom and Dad genuinely liked Matt for himself. 

“She says that he is too skinny, his wife should feed him more.” Mrs. Zvonocek continued, shooting Sylvie a knowing look.  
“He eats all the time.” Sylvie laughed. “He just stays skinny, the jerk, making me look bad in front of Baba.”

“The captain, he is a builder?” Mrs. Zvonocek asked. Her English was good, but once in a while the structure of her sentences was a bit odd or just a bit stilted, like she wasn’t sure she had used the right word.

“Yes, when he isn’t at the fire house.”  
“It is beautiful, what he built. He tries to honor our heritage.”

“He likes Brian very much, and he appreciates anyone's heritage. He’s very proud of being Irish, himself.”

“Brian likes and respects Captain Casey as well.” Mrs. Zvonocek replied. “Though I do not understand why everyone calls him Otis.”  
“It’s a compliment.” Sylvie reassured her. “It’s because of his talent at getting elevators to work – Otis is an elevator brand.”  
“I am glad he is happy. We wanted him to be a doctor, you know. Brian says you have children, you will someday see them grown and think of all the things they could have been. But you will love them as they are. Sons are a great blessing, Sylvie.”  
“Yes, yes, they are.” Sylvie couldn’t keep the huge smile off her face. She pulled out her phone, and in the time-honored tradition of still-pretty-new parents at the slightest invitation asked, “do you want to see pictures?”

* * *

“You feeling better now? With the whole postpartum thing.” Kelly asked, as he sat her glass of rose in front of her. He’d been around a lot lately, but they hadn’t really spoken much. Kelly was spending a lot of time with Matt, she’d looked back after Matt mentioned it and realized he had been obviously going out of his way to make extra time for Matt. Even tonight, Kelly had been practically an inch off Matt's hip anytime he wasn't attached to Stella. It was a little clingy and possessive, even for the Matt-Kelly dynamic which was sometimes just odd. 

“Yeah, I’m doing a lot better. I’m not very moody, anymore, though still a bit extra emotional.” She had to admit that much. She didn’t have random moods, but she did have stronger reactions to things than she probably would have normally. It was definitely evening out, though. “I’m fine at work. Matt says it’s like I store it all up until we’re off shift and then let it all sort of whoosh out. He’s dealing with a lot of me crying at ASPCA commercials and silly things. The really bad moods, the rages, those are gone – and good riddance.”  
“You, uh, you two going to therapy again?”  
“Did Matt tell you we were?” She wondered, since they had discussed going back, but to her knowledge no appointments had been made as of yet.  
“Case mentioned he asked you to go with him as he started back with Dr. Sandlin, yeah.”  
“Not yet, we haven’t had any appointments, but I agreed to do it with him when we do go back to Dr. Sandlin. We’re…it’s tough, working through things. I feel so guilty for things I didn’t even know I did. Things I said. And he’s, we’re, trying to work our way through his feelings, too.”  
“I’m…look, Matt’s gonna be pissed at me, but I…he’s a good friend.” Kelly took a nice swig of his no doubt heavily alcoholic drink.  
“He’s your little brother, I get it.” She nodded. “I have one of my own, I recognize the symptoms. He’s annoying, and no one else gets under your skin quite like him, and he makes you crazy faster than anyone else ever could, and you want to smack him half the time, but you also want to murder anyone who hurts him, and you’re stupidly proud of stuff he does because you have nothing to do with it but like…that’s your little brother.” She shrugged. She was always so proud of Leo, which made no sense, he was completely independent of her, but still, totally proud that he was her brother.  
“I never had siblings.” Kelly shrugged a little in response. “I mean, some former step-siblings and a half-sister from Benny, but I never…we didn’t grow up together. Hell, Beth’s boys were so young, they could’ve practically been my own kids. Andy and Shay were my best friends. Case has always just been Casey. But yeah, that sounds about right. And we’re friends, Sylvie, you and me. I know you love him. I just…I need to have a conversation with you.”  
“Okay.”

“I never did this with Dawson. I should have.” Kelly shook his head. “I didn’t say anything, and sometimes I think he thought I was taking her side. I was trying to stay out of it, he gets so damned secretive and quiet, pissed if he thinks you're butting in, but I should’ve made it clear he could…that I had his back, even if he was arguing with Dawson.”

“He knows you care about him, Kelly.” She smiled gently. “He won’t say it, because I think it violates boy code or something, but he knows.”  
“Yeah, well, he clearly didn’t know that if it came down to it, I’d take his side over Dawson’s. I liked her, a lot, she was a good friend and a helluva person, but Case is…he’s Case.” Sylvie said nothing, trying not to laugh at Kelly’s persistent inability – so much like Matt’s – to just admit that he loved and adored Matt Casey. Honestly, aside from maybe Jack and herself (and that was a closer race than she much wanted to consider) she didn’t think there was a bigger fan of Matt Casey on the planet than Kelly Severide. Kelly finally continued, “Andy would’ve done this, and he liked Dawson, but he would’ve killed her for how she treated Casey. Andy always considered it his job to keep Casey from being too serious all the time, but also to try to show him how – hell, show both of us I guess – how family was supposed to work.”

“Alright, time for a big brother speech. Hit me with it.” Sylvie met his eyes firmly, ready for whatever Kelly had to say that he was working himself up to actually say.  
“You fucked up. Not intentionally, I know. But you have to fix what you broke.”  
“I know. We’re working on it.” She paused for just a second. “Did you really just suddenly decide to be his gym buddy?”  
“I had to keep an eye on him. He’s…he can get obsessive. I made sure he didn't go overboard."  
"Well, I appreciate you taking care of him, when I was...not."  
"You don't have to worry about him, you know. He's even more crazy for you now than he was before." Kelly leaned in, as if he was confiding some sort of secret. "I mean, completely gone. So as long as you stop messing up, you two will be happily married forever."

“So, besides telling me to do what I already plan to do – fix some potholes in my marriage – was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”  
“I’m not done.” Kelly shook his head. “He would never tell me anything specific. He’s secretive, even with me. But I know you said things that spun him out.”  
“We’re talking with Dr. Sandlin about that. I don’t remember saying half of it. Some of it, I do remember.” Sylvie sighed. “I remember getting mad about silly things a lot. I said silly things a lot it seems. I mean, cruel things, but silly in the way its nonsense. Like saying he got fat. Matt is incapable of getting fat, I think.”  
“And that’s why I was his gym partner.” Kelly nodded. “I don’t want to…I know you were sick, Sylvie. I don’t want to make you feel bad. Just, Case is possibly the toughest son of a bitch I know. Physically, yeah, he can take a beating and barely flinch, but more, just…psychologically, I guess. He’s forced himself back from some seriously nasty shit, just willed himself to get through, but he’s a control freak.”  
“ _He’s_ a control freak?”  
“We’re both that way, yes.” Kelly admitted. “I self-destruct to control relationships, yeah, Stella keeps reminding me – actually, so did Shay. Casey’s version of control is to just blame himself.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Anything goes wrong in his life, he makes it his fault, because then he thinks he can prevent it. If he does it differently the next time, does something _better_ , he can keep the bad thing from happening again. He wasn’t protective enough with Hallie, that clinic set off his spidey-senses, but he didn’t say anything because they were still new again, and she died. So he was protective with Dawson, and in his head, he chased her off by being too controlling and protective. Andy…Andy died because Casey let him lead into a building, now Casey is first in and last out, every time. Every time. Not because he doesn’t trust his guys, any of us, just he has to have that control.”  
“Yeah, I see that, what does that have to do with him and me?”  
“Whatever he needs in therapy or whatever, do it.” Kelly insisted firmly. “Because the stuff you said, whatever it was, he heard it and he took it as truth. Remember, back when you first got together, I told you that Matt believes it when you tell him things?”  
“You said selfish, if I want to win a fight I just have to call him selfish. Which, shit, I did – more than once.” Sylvie remembered. Matt was very rarely self-interested, let alone selfish, and yet, he always seemed to think he was being selfish if he so much as stood up for himself or asked for what he wanted. He was a giver, by nature or nurture or both.   
“He was doing great, you know, confident, about being a dad. Loving it.”  
“He still loves it.” Sylvie knew that without a shadow of a doubt.  
“He loves those boys, and you, beyond…well, beyond anything.” Kelly shrugged. “Used to be, he’d talk about Jack like every blink was the greatest blink ever. Now, I spend half the time we’re out anywhere listening to him second-guess everything he does, everything he says, everything he thinks. Just…make sure he gets lots of time with his therapist, and you.”

“Of course. I mean, I already told Matt, I think he – and us as a couple – need to go back sooner, regardless of money being a little tight from Alec’s and my hospital bills.” Kelly nodded and was silent for a moment. He took a few drinks, Sylvie wondered if he was fortifying himself for whatever was still on his mind.

“Did you hit him?” Kelly asked, meeting her eyes again. She couldn’t quite place the expression on his face.

“Uhm, a couple times, I think. I don’t really remember but, yeah, I’m pretty sure, no, I did. Once really badly. I mean, any time is really bad, just that one was, Matt and I talked about it, and he’s actually a lot cooler with it than I am. Which weirds me out.”  
“I thought you had. Bruises he brushed off, tried to say he got on the job, but he’s not one for construction site accidents and the calls at work didn’t match up.” Kelly sighed. “He’s a shit liar. No idea how no one called the cops on his old man when he was a kid. No way he would’ve been able to lie his way out of any questions.”  
“His dad hit him?”  
“Sometimes.” Kelly nodded. “Had to get him nearly unconscious drunk for him to admit it, years ago. Benny was a piece of work, but Case’s old man must’ve been a real bastard.”  
“Matt never talks about his dad.”  
“Would you?” Kelly asked pointedly. “My point is Matt deals with all the shit life hands him by locking it in a box and shoving it down inside somewhere. I know you love him enough to put him first and make him really deal with this round of shit, because his relationships with everyone else who hurt him and let him shove it down, those never got better. Even mine.”  
“You two are total besties.”  
“You didn’t know us before.” Kelly smiled ruefully. “After Andy died, I turned on him, blamed him. He reached out, in his own ways, and I shoved him away. I had Shay. I thought he had Hallie, but I guess that fell apart again at the same time, and we never dealt with how we reacted to Andy’s death. He’s never trusted me the same again – before Andy died, he’d never have been surprised that I tossed him my keys when he had no home after that fire. He’d have expected me and Andy to take care of him.”  
“He knows he can count on you, Kelly.” Sylvie reassured him firmly. “That’s why you’re Jack’s and Alec’s godfather. He’s trusting you with his boys, and I know you know what that means to him.”  
“Gotta admit, I’ve had a few awards and medals and that crap in my life.” Kelly was grinning now, broadly, “proudest I’ve ever been is standing godfather to those two boys. I do know what it means to Case, that I’ve got his boys if…just if. But just like you’re both trusting them to me, I’m trusting you to fix this shit with Matt. Whatever it takes. Fix it.”  
“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've rewritten this chapter at least a half dozen times. Hopefully it's not too awful. Reminder that Otis will never die in my universe. Not ever.


	14. Mothers and Sons

She was perhaps a little insanely excited to finally be seeing Mrs. Danvers again. Matt had introduced her to Mrs. Danvers when Jack was brand-new, but while he’d been promising to get them together again ever since, he hadn’t actually done so. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Mrs. Danvers had ended up spending a lot of time in Peoria, Arizona for the last year – she’d had a new great-grandchild or two, plus a granddaughter who was getting married. Sylvie knew Matt had worried she'd call and tell him to prep the house for sale, that she was staying in Arizona with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids (the middle of whom had just gotten married – the wedding was around Halloween, the most recent time Matt had gone over to do some minor repair or other). Sylvie knew Matt had at least expected to get a call that she was staying for the winter, which she did most years. Instead, he’d gotten a call from her that she needed the house ready for her to move back in mid-November and she was going to be staying through the entire winter. Matt had been surprised, and a little worried, but also pleased, Sylvie could tell. He ended up over at Mrs. Danvers' once or twice a month at least, and Sylvie suspected some of that was not for repairs, just to visit with the older lady. He had keys, and Matt had been keeping an eye on the place the whole time, and he’d even fixed a few things that he said had been making him a little crazy for years, so he’d just gone over and made sure it was all clean and in perfect order. Yesterday, Mrs. Danvers had called to thank him and invite him over to meet her daughter (her daughter had traveled with her, made sure she got settled in), while insisting that he finally bring his younger son along for Mrs. Danvers to meet.

They pulled into an alley, and then into a garage. She’d never been over to Mrs. Danvers’ home, the last time they’d met it had been at a park. _Of course_ he had an opener for her garage, Sylvie reasoned through her initial surprise, he had keys to the whole place. Sylvie didn’t quite know what to call the feeling that rose up in her. This woman clearly trusted Matt, quite a lot, was very fond of him, but yet, Sylvie had barely met her, and she lived so close it turned out. Just over in Lincoln. Which, granted, was Lincoln Park – even relative to Bucktown it was a world apart - but Christie really didn't live very far from here. Not that they went over to Christie's very often, Violet usually came over to their place. 

“You never mentioned Mrs. Danvers was, uh, affluent.” Sylvie ventured. Matt shrugged, but he was also blushing just a tiny bit.

“Her husband was a major real estate developer, I think. He died a year before I met her. So, yeah, she’s comfortably wealthy, I guess - I've never asked about it, but she doesn't ever seem worried about the costs of maintaining this place. The house is beautiful. I’ve done a lot of maintenance work, but not much renovations – it’s gorgeous as it is, just needs keeping up, not changing in my opinion.” He smiled and shrugged again. “I think that’s why she’s kept me on. I don’t try to convince her to change anything. Forget the trends. When you’re living in a house that was built just after the great fire and is this beautifully constructed, why mess around with it just to make it ‘twenty-first century’ or whatever?”

“And you’re honest, and trustworthy, and reliable,” Sylvie leaned across to kiss him softly. “And you’re kind of cute, which probably doesn’t hurt.”  
“You mean that in a sexy way, I think,” Matt grinned, “but Mrs. Danvers means that like when Cindy calls Jack cute.”

“Either way. Cute.”

“Ear, Daddy?” Jack piped up from the back. Sylvie had no idea if it was just typical parental pride, but to her his speech was very advanced for a kid just barely eighteen months old, even if that pesky h sound still completely eluded him. Quite a few sounds still needed work, but for his age, she was pretty sure he was a genius. She was biased, but still, pretty much perfect. All three of her boys. 

“Yeah, we’re here, Peanut.” Matt replied, looking in the mirror as both adults got out of the car. Sylvie got Alec out of his seat while Matt managed Jack. Whatever else had gone on between them since Alec was born, they had the logistics down pat now, like a well-oiled machine.

* * *

“Mrs. Danvers, you remember my wife, Sylvie, and our eldest, Jack and this is our younger son, Alec.” Matt introduced them as they got to the living room.

“Och, lad, bring ‘em in here proper.” Sylvie was still shocked to hear a distinctly Scottish accent, though of course she'd noticed it last time they met, it just seemed so out of place in Chicago. Matt's hand was on the small of her back as they moved into the room completely. Mrs. Danvers’ daughter had met them at the back door, smiling and hugging Matt as if they’d met already, which Matt had insisted they had not – though they had plenty of conversations, apparently. Jenny Richardson, as she introduced herself, had just about showered Matt with gratitude for years of taking care of the house and in some ways her mother. Jenny looked to be maybe in her fifties, and even Sylvie could see the understated wealth in her clothing and jewelry. Matt had been shy about it, but Jack had thanked her and told her that his daddy liked helping people – the boy had a natural charm that Matt was blaming on Kelly’s influence but Sylvie was not at all sure wasn’t Matt’s own, just long ago hidden away. Jack had absolutely none of Matt's insecurities, and if she had her way, he'd stay exactly as confident as he was now. 

Geraldine Danvers was standing, a cane the only apparent indication of her age. She could’ve passed for being in her early seventies, Sylvie thought, despite being about two decades older than that. Pure white hair was the only real indication that she was substantially into her age. Even just from her carriage, Sylvie knew that this woman was confident, fiery even, and not much inhibited by her age. No wonder she still lived alone: this woman did not seem likely to need much help with anything.

“Well, Sylvie, how are you feeling with two boys?” Mrs. Danvers smiled warmly. “I had two girls quite close together, you know, Jenny’s older sisters. It feels an age since we met. I cannot remember if I said it then, so I’ll say it now, I am sorry to have missed your wedding, dear, but my own granddaughter – my son’s daughter – was getting married the same weekend in Florida.”  
“Oh, no, of course we understand.” Sylvie reassured readily. “I’m just sorry it took this long for us to meet up again. Matt always has the most wonderful things to say about you.”  
“Ach, the lad’s a flatterer.” Mrs. Danvers laughed. “Now, these handsome wee lads, let me see them. Jack and Alec, sound like good Scottish lads, you know.”  
“Matt told me he liked the name when I suggested Alexander, based on stories you tell about…your cousin, I think? He just always liked the sound of the name, said it sounded like the name of a good man.” Sylvie had liked it, too, a common enough name – Alexander – made just a touch more unique with a nickname that was less common than Alex or even Xander, at least in the United States. She'd originally wanted Xander, admittedly, but Jack saying Alec just the once had cemented it in her mind as the perfect name for their new little boy. 

“Jack, this is a friend of mine, Mrs. Danvers. Can you say ‘hi’ to her?” Matt prompted his son, who was still safely ensconced in Matt’s arms.  
“Hi, Missuh Danvers.” Jack obediently said, smiling broadly and waving at the woman. Her eldest boy was not shy at all. Alec was more reluctant with people he didn’t know, as much as you could tell that with a baby who was four months old, but Jack barely knew a stranger.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Jack. Your father has been a friend of mine for a lot of years, you know.”  
“Since afore me?” Lately, Jack’s definition of a long time was either before Alec or before him. Sylvie thought it was adorable and wasn’t about to discourage it.

“Oh, long before you, lad. Since your father was barely old enough to zip his own fly.”  
"Wazza fly?" Jack asked, confused.  
“I wasn’t _that_ young.” Matt laughed. Mrs. Danvers gestured for everyone to settle into the furniture. Jack seemed torn for a minute, looked up at Matt, who nodded and set him on his feet. Jack then sat between Mrs. Danvers and her daughter. If Matt Casey was bad at politics, his son was going to be a charmer and a half, Sylvie thought, watching both women seem very much touched by the boy’s action and apparent trust. 

“How long has Matt been working for you, Mrs. Danvers?” Sylvie couldn't help asking. She knew Matt had said it was a long time ago, but she was curious just _how_ long ago that was.  
“Och, Sylvie, call me Geri.” Mrs. Danvers, Geri, waved a hand sort of imperiously. “Your husband refuses to call me by my first name, even after all these years, insists on the 'Missus Danvers' but you needn’t do so. Now, to answer your question, dear, I met this lad a year after my husband died, before he was even in the fire academy, nineteen years old, he was. Couldna've been shaving yet, smooth as a bairn. I was his first official client when he started out on his own, years later. He was working for Frank Doherty when I met him, you know. That’s how I met him. My husband knew Frank Doherty for decades. So when I needed a bit of work about the place, I called Frank, and he sent over this young lad, said I could trust him about the place, even when I’m away for weeks or more.”

“I didn’t know you worked for Frank Doherty, Matt.” Sylvie remarked. She’d heard the name a few times around the Gallaghers, and they’d had drinks with Charlie Doherty several times, and Charlie and his wife had attended their wedding, but she’d never met Frank Doherty and Matt never brought him up. 

“He owns a construction company, among other ventures.” Matt nodded. “Bill Gallagher mentioned I was…between things, the winter after I graduated from high school, and Mr. Doherty insisted on putting me on a crew. About six months later, I was told to come up here and do whatever Geraldine Danvers asked me to do – I remember being a little worried, it sounded like I might be asked to do something strange or dangerous.”  
Geri made a harrumphing sort of noise. “I told Frank I needed someone to fix windows in the bedrooms upstairs. I don’t know what he might’ve taken from that, but he did say he was sending me a boy he’d trust in his own wife's bedroom. I took a liking to the skinny lad, despite his homely looks, leastways he's always been honest with me.”  
“Frank always said it was a pity I’m so honest.” Matt shrugged, but he was smiling.

“A pity?” Sylvie couldn’t help asking. Then she was interrupted from her thoughts by Jack’s movement towards the plate of mini cakes on the table in front of the sofa. “Jack, what’s the rule about food?”  
“Haffa ask firs.” Jack sighed. “Momma, can I av cake?”  
“They’re for the lads – big and small both.” Geri smiled warmly. “I know to have sweets on hand when his father comes to work or visit, I figured the young one wouldn’t be so very different.”  
“He’s not.” Sylvie laughed lightly. “They both would eat anything if you dip it in chocolate first.”  
“Chocky?” Jack asked, looking even more excited.

“You can have one, but how about we ask Mrs. Danvers for a plate for you?” Sylvie eyed the furniture, which looked as ridiculously antique and expensive as everything else in the house. It was gorgeous, as Matt had said, but it was like letting her toddler eat in a museum. None of this needed cake crumbs ground into it by Jack.   
“I not make mess, Momma.”  
“We know you’d try not to, Peanut, but eating in the living room not in the kitchen at the table is a pretty big treat, and we have to be extra careful. How about we both have plates?” Matt asked, and Jack nodded. Not for the first time, hell, not for the first time today, Sylvie was grateful that Jack contentedly went along with anything that Matt also did.

“Can me an’ Daddy ave pates, Missuh Danvers?” Jack asked, utterly adorable as he looked up at the woman. Then he turned to Matt, “Me an you just same, right, Daddy? You an me an Alec.”  
“My three boys.” Sylvie smiled, agreeing with Jack. Mrs. Danvers' own smile seemed to echo Sylvie's feelings, that two boys growing up trying to be just like Matt Casey was a joy and a blessing for the future. 

The afternoon with Geri Danvers was fantastic. Sylvie presumed it was the closet she’d ever get to seeing Matt with sort of his grandmother, since both of his actual grandmothers were long dead. Geri prodded at him, teasing him mercilessly, but it was obvious she adored him, and her daughter had not been able to say often enough apparently how much her children appreciated that they could trust Matt to look after her and the big house in Chicago since they lived in other states now. Sylvie had known Matt was close to Mrs. Danvers, but she hadn’t really put together that having Matt around helped make it possible for her to stay at home: he did all the maintenance on the house, checked on it while she was gone, and was someone she could call the minute something went awry – even if Matt couldn’t fix it, he’d deal with whatever needed to be done, call the plumber, electrician, whomever, and make sure Geri was treated fairly and properly. She supposed there weren’t that many people that you’d trust with your ninety-year-old mother and her entire estate like that: not that Geri was in any way senile or likely to be any kind of confidence scheme victim, but still, it must be a comfort to her family. Sylvie hadn't known until Jenny said it, but apparently Matt was even the person that the LifeAlert company would call if Geri had to use it. And Matt, God knew the man needed more family than he had, even if he wouldn’t admit she was more than a good client, it was clear that he respected and truly cared about the elderly woman. He didn’t care that she was clearly quite wealthy: she could’ve been poor as a church-mouse and Matt would still treat her the same way. And Geri didn’t seem to view Matt as simply hired help, either. Geri had been every inch the doting great-grandmother to the boys, remarking over how cute they looked and how verbal Jack was for his age, how polite and respectful he was, too, and Matt had sort of puffed up, clearly proud as could be of his boys. The boys knew Christie and Violet, of course, and even knew Nancy at least in passing, but this felt a little like Sylvie and the boys had passed some sort of test with Matt’s family. If nothing else, Sylvie didn't think it could hurt at all to have another grandmotherly sort in her sons' lives, and it certainly didn't hurt Matt to have someone else chiding him to take better care of himself and work fewer hours.

* * *

“Is my son here?” Nancy asked, not waiting to be invited inside as Sylvie opened the door, trying to find a smile for her mother-in-law. Randy wasn’t with her, so it wasn’t technically breaking Matt’s rule about Randy not being allowed in the house without Matt being home. Sylvie didn’t much like the rule, but given everything else in the last twelve months, she was not going to fight with Matt about anything that wasn’t vitally important, and Randy did make her a little uncomfortable, so it definitely wasn’t worth even saying anything to Matt about feeling bad about the rule. Whatever it was exactly that lay between Matt and his stepfather, Sylvie did not feel on stable enough ground to wade into that minefield. She wasn't even all that sure she wanted the minefield of his relationship with Nancy introduced to their lives at this point. She wished she had hope that things were well there. She didn’t know much about his relationship with his mother lately, he’d been keeping any of his own issues from her since she went on bed-rest with Alec, not wanting to stress her or bother her, but she sensed it was not going very well, and while Sylvie was starting to fight him on that whole 'not bothering her' thing, she was not going to fight with him about his relationship with Nancy.

“He’s not back from work, yet.” Sylvie finally answered, as she caught up to Nancy in the kitchen.  
“Are you sure he’s working?” Nancy asked. “He’s never home it seems like – his father used to use ‘working late on a project’ as an excuse to go to the bar, usually with other women.”  
“Matt is home every night he’s not on shift, but it’s only 6 o’clock and he had a delay at the Sharma project.” Sylvie just barely kept her tone polite. “And Matt is not his father.”  
“He sounds more like his father every time I talk to him.”  
“He hasn’t said anything to me – what are you two fighting about now?” Sylvie sighed, wondering why her mother-in-law just could not get over herself long enough to actually work on her relationship with her children. When both your children barely spoke to you, that should be a sign that you might want to change your behavior.   
“We’re not fighting, he’s being an ass. He refuses to let me have my grandsons for a weekend. Just a weekend. He refuses to even ask you what you think about it.”  
“I think that I’m not going to overrule my husband, even if I could, if that’s what you’re here to ask.” Sylvie wouldn’t do that, even if she actually disagreed with Matt’s decision, but she didn’t. In fact, she firmly agreed with him. They’d discussed the matter already, despite what Nancy seemed to think. The boys didn’t know Nancy and Nancy didn’t know the boys well enough for her to keep them overnight. Besides, she was nervous about leaving the boys – who were very young still – overnight with anyone who wasn’t Cindy Hermann or her own mother. Letting Kelly and Stella keep them overnight for Matt’s birthday in a few days was already stressing her out, and the Casey boys adored their Uncle Kelly and Aunt Stella. Plus, she knew Kelly had purchased the very best-reviewed pack ‘n plays and had one for each boy. She almost smiled, thinking on how very much Kelly Severide adored his nephews, and just how long it would be before Matt nudged (maybe a little bullied) Kelly into finally using that ring and making it official with Stella.

Nancy was huffing a little, clearly frustrated and annoyed, “I tried to compromise, I said just for a day – Randy and I will pick them up in the morning and bring them home after dinner. I know for a fact that you let other people have the boys during the day, including their other grandparents, and some of your friends, like oh, that friend of Matt’s with the girl’s name.”

“Kelly Severide, one of Matt’s best friends for the last twenty years, it might help your relationship with your son if you learned the man’s name.” Sylvie couldn’t help commenting, but managed to not roll her eyes. “If Matt doesn’t trust you, Nancy, there isn’t much I can do about that – and I wouldn’t, if I could. I’m not going to take your side, or anyone’s side, against my husband.”  
“I don’t see why he doesn’t trust me. I raised him, didn’t I?”  
“You’ll have to discuss that with Matt.” Sylvie paused, wondering if she should push the topic, but hey, why not? She was in that sort of mood apparently. “It might be in part that Matt doesn’t like Randy.”  
“Well, whether or not my son – who is in his forties – likes my husband is not particularly my concern. It’s not any of his business. I am his mother, not his child, and I do not need his approval or petty vindictive little fits about my life. Randy doesn’t like Matthew, either, but he at least manages to be polite and not pick fights with me about it. I don’t know what I ever did to raise a son who is so ungrateful and cruel.”  
“Matt isn’t cruel, or ungrateful. He is allowed to set the boundaries for his, our, children, Nancy. Just like you did for him when he was a boy.” Sylvie pointed out, knowing her voice was sharp but damn it, she couldn’t exactly help standing up for her husband, not that she even wanted to stop herself.  
“I never kept him from his grandparents. I didn’t deny him relationships with his family. My grandsons hardly know who I am. First, he complained about that stupid shot, I got the shot, and he still refuses to let me build a relationship with my grandsons.”  
“Mom.” Matt sounded like he was both asking what she was doing there and stating a fact that she was there. He had come in from the back, and Sylvie took a moment to wonder just what in hell he was doing – it was March, in Chicago, and he apparently was not wearing a coat. Idiot. You might not literally catch colds by being cold, but it was a good way to get sick nonetheless. He was also pretty filthy. She couldn't for the life of her remember what the Sharma project included, just that he was working on the Sharma project today.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls, so I thought I’d stop by.”  
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I’m busy.” Matt sighed. “And I was avoiding a fight because I’m tired, Mom.”  
“Avoiding and ignoring are the same thing, Matthew.”  
“Hey, babe, how are you?” Matt leaned in, kissing Sylvie softly.

“I’m fine, we had a good day.”  
“Yeah? How are my sons?” Matt had that sort of proud small smile on his face, that one he got every time he said the phrase ‘my sons’ which always made Sylvie’s heart melt a little bit. Matt was an incredibly attractive man, but that proud papa part hit every button she had for making him both lovable and sexy as hell.

“Alec is sleeping, and Jack is having some ‘quiet time’ – he may be sleeping as well, an extra nap won’t hurt him today even this close to bedtime. We went for a walk while it was warm enough this afternoon and Jack played in the backyard, then played a version of hockey with sofa cushion opponents in the basement that Mommy is pretty sure is not at all legal in the NHL or any league, and then jumped on the trampoline Uncle Kelly bought until Mommy was tired just watching.”  
“Just wait until both boys are playing hockey downstairs.” Matt laughed. “There will be no rules.”  
“I don’t understand hockey, so rules teaching is up to you, Daddy.”  
“Sev wants to get tickets to a match in a couple weeks, against the Flames, thought we’d take Jack.”  
“Matthew-“ Nancy tried to interrupt, but Sylvie ignored her for the moment, just like Matt was doing.

“I’m fine with it, as long as the Flames aren’t a major rival. You’re not taking my sons to a game against the Red Wings or the Blues, maybe a few other teams, until they’re like sixteen and I can handle the sort of language they’ll hear – probably from you and Kelly.”  
“I promise we’ll be on our best language behavior.” Matt smiled broadly. “We’ll just take Jack this time, it’ll be too loud for Alec for sure, but Jack seems to do fine with crowds.”  
“Matthew, it is very rude to ignore someone who came specifically to talk to you.”  
“Excuse me, while I say hello to my wife.” Matt replied sharply. “Mom, what do you want to talk to me about that couldn’t wait any longer?”  
“I want to see the boys on my birthday next week.”  
“You can come by and see them, sure.” Matt agreed readily. “If you want to stay for dinner tonight, for that matter, they’ll both be down here. I’d love for you to spend more time with us.”

“I want to take the boys out to do something fun. So they learn to enjoy time with Nana and Granddad.”  
“Nancy-“ Sylvie started, wincing at Matt’s inevitable reaction to her suggestion of including Randy at all, let alone clearly wanting the boys to think of him as and call him their grandfather.

“No.” Matt’s reply was succinct, and he didn’t even bother to look up as he washed his hands. Sylvie got momentarily distracted by the color of the water going down the drain. She appreciated the gesture, that he washed his hands when he came home pretty much first thing, but all of him needed a wash at this point. What had he been doing, just _rolling_ in dirt?

“Matthew-“  
“I don’t want him around my sons. You know that. I’ve made it very clear.”  
“You cannot bar my husband from-“  
“I think I can.” Matt cut her off. “They’re my sons-“  
“You’re _my_ son, though I’m not exactly proud of that fact. You’re cruel and unfair. Thank God you don’t drink or maybe you would end up just like your father.”  
“Nancy, that’s enough.” Sylvie cut in there, not about to tolerate that for even one moment. Staying out of the minefield was one thing, not letting her lob grenades at him in his own kitchen, well, that was another. Sylvie was never going to let anyone tell Matt he was anything like his father, especially not someone who was doing it specifically to hurt him. 

“You can think I’m an asshole, you can think I’m just like Dad, whatever you want to think or say or feel about me, that’s fine. I can’t do anything about that.” Matt nearly bit out his words. “I _can_ make sure that my sons don’t see Randy as their grandfather. He’s not their-“  
“Your father is _dead_ , Matthew! He can’t be a grandpa!”

“I know he’s dead, Mom! _You_ killed him!” Matt’s voice rose just as Nancy’s had.   
“I killed him for you! You know that! I couldn’t stand what he said about you!”  
“What did he say?” Matt asked sharply. “Did he call me a faggot again? Did he say I was a girl? I’d heard it all before, Mom. Was it that I made him _ashamed_? That I was too weak, too sensitive, too stupid, too submissive? That you’d coddled me so I was a little princess? Which one was it?”  
“He said he wished I’d gotten that abortion he wanted! That he wished you’d never been born!”  
“Nancy!” Sylvie shoved between the two of them, grabbing Matt’s hand, as she turned to face him fully. “Matt, calm down. Go for a walk for a minute, okay?”  
“Well, fuck, Mom, there were plenty of days _I_ wished you’d gotten that abortion he wanted!”

“Matt!” Sylvie spun, looking at Matt, knowing her face showed both shock and maybe irrational hurt at his words.

“I got away, Matthew, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t keep you from him. I couldn’t. There was never any proof he hurt you. And you believed it, all the things he said, I could see that you did.”  
“I know, and while I’m not ever going to say I agree or even understand why you shot him, Mom, I know you thought you had to. But how do you expect me to let a man just like him be around my sons?” Matt asked, deflating a little and shaking his head. “Randy talks to me just like Dad did, he talks to you a lot like Dad did, too. And I can’t do a damned thing about the fact that you married him and he’s an asshole. I _can_ make sure that my sons never see me treat with respect any man who treats a woman that way. Because I don’t. I don’t have an ounce of respect for any man who has to feel like a man by being a condescending jerk to people around him, especially the women in his life. So, no, you can’t have the boys because they’re not going to be around Randy. You can come by here, that’s fine. I’m not keeping you from your grandsons.”  
“But my husband isn’t welcome.”  
“No, he isn’t. I’m not a huge fan of my sons hearing how Randy talks to me, and maybe that’s just stupid pride, I admit that, but while I can’t do a damned thing about how he talks to you, no one speaks to my wife, their mother, like that in my house. My boys will never think that anyone disrespecting their mother is acceptable - not them, not you, not your husband, definitely not me.”  
“It’s my birthday, Matthew.”  
“My decision stands.” Matt shrugged.  
“Sylvie-“  
“No, I already told you, Nancy.” Sylvie turned, standing firm against her mother-in-law which wasn’t even hard. “I’m on Matt’s side – both because I agree with him and because I am _always_ on Matt’s side.”

“Why don’t you come over on your birthday, have dinner here, spend some time with us and the boys?” Matt suggested, Sylvie could detect a bit of maybe wishful thinking in his voice. “Jack plays a mean game of Candyland. Well, someone has to play with him, but he’s starting to get it. He’d love to show off knowing his colors for you.”

“Or you could come over for Matt’s birthday – we work tomorrow, but we’re celebrating the day after.” Sylvie put in, thinking how much Matt would love showing off his boys for his mother, and how much it would mean to him to have his mother around for his birthday. She knew the last time Nancy had even spoken to him on his birthday was when he turned sixteen.

“We have plans, Emmie has one of her cheerleading competitions.” Nancy shook her head. “And Randy is taking me out for my birthday, I was hoping my grandsons could join me.”  
“Come over another night.” Matt tried again. “Play with the boys.”

“I don’t think I’m interested in excluding my husband from things.”  
“That’s your choice, not mine, but I respect your choice. Just know that it's always _your_ choice.” Matt nodded, but Sylvie could hear the disappointment in his voice and see it in the set of his shoulders. Nancy left a few moments later, without even seeing the boys. Sylvie pulled Matt into a careful hug, trying to miss most of the dirt and dust covering him.

“Thanks. I needed that.” Matt kissed her softly as he pulled back a few moments later. “Thanks for backing me up on all of that.”  
“Of course. I mean, I agree with you, which helps, but I’m always on your side, Matt. Team Casey. You, me, Jack, and Alec. I’m sorry you ever doubted that, even for a minute.”  
“You don’t have half a clue how much I love you.” Matt was smiling as he said it, his hands coming up to cradle her face gently, and something warm bloomed in her heart at both his expression and his tone. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Sylvie. We might have had a bit of a rough patch we’re still recovering from, but _that_ is never changing.”  
“I love you, too,” She leaned up to kiss him very lightly, “but you need to shower and change before dinner – I already fed the boys, sorry – but just to warn you, if Jack hears you upstairs you may have company in the shower. He missed you today.”  
“Sorry, I’m trying to be home more but you know November is always-“  
“I know, it’s busy because everyone wants it all done before the holidays.” Sylvie waved him towards the direction of the stairs. “Go. Shower. Just be ready for an invader.”  
“If he takes off his clothes before he gets in I don’t mind so much.” Matt grinned at her, as he walked away. “Getting a wriggling toddler out of soaking clothes and diaper, that’s not so fun.”  
"Does that apply to all visitors in the shower? We have to get naked to be welcome?" Sylvie asked him. His head whipped around, and he shot her the most exaggerated shocked expression that it made her giggle.   
"If you join me, we better hope Jack doesn't!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Nancy always exhausts me. Trying to hit the tone of that character from the show is hard, but I hope I got it right. And no, if you haven't figured it out yet, I don't like Nancy Casey.


	15. Birthday Celebrations

They once again were on shift the day of Matt’s birthday, and once again he had threatened her and Kelly both with dire consequences if they made any sort of deal – let alone a big one – out of his birthday. She had only promised about the firehouse, though, and had cupcakes and balloons ready at breakfast, letting Jack join in the celebration, which had gone very well until Jack had decided that birthdays meant Daddy was supposed to stay home and play all day. Dropping the boys off with Cindy had turned into a saga, as Jack was determined to hit the terrible twos several months early apparently. Thankfully, Cindy was used to tantrums and wasn’t likely to judge their parenting based on the complete meltdown Jack had when Matt put him down on the Herrmanns’ front porch. Sylvie did her best not to laugh most of the time at Jack’s temper, because he was just so utterly dramatic, but Matt struggled not to give in and just give his son whatever he wanted. He knew that giving in was not what was best for his son but seeing Jack even minutely unhappy was basically torture for Matt. She was sure he’d be the same with Alec. Luckily, in this case, not going to shift was not an option, so Matt genuinely couldn’t give in. Instead, he’d quickly come up with a bit of a compromise: Jack would stay with Aunt Cindy today, and be very good, but he could come by the firehouse for dinner later to celebrate the birthday ‘properly’. Sylvie had exchanged texts with Cindy all day, making sure timing was right, and thankfully neither 61 nor 81 had been called out at five o’clock when all the Herrmanns, barring Lee Henry, invaded the firehouse. Max let go of Jack’s hand once they were inside, and Sylvie just grinned to watch Jack careen full tilt at Matt.

“Daddy!” She wasn’t the only one grinning wildly as Matt caught Jack and swung him up into his arms with the ease of daily routine. Seeing Matt happy never got old for anyone, apparently. Whatever his reputation as a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, hierarchy and rules-bound officer (though his men loved him anyway, because he always had their backs), Daddy-Matt was almost a literal ray of sunshine in a room, he just lit up around his sons.

“Jack!” Matt replied, accepting the nearly dangerous arm-flinging hug from Jack. Jack did nothing halfway, and his physical affection was whole-hearted, whole-body, exuberance. 

“Havy birvday!” Jack cried, once he had let go of Matt’s neck.

“Captain, it’s your birthday?” Ritter asked, looking surprised.

“It’s not a big deal.” Matt held up his free hand, clearly warning the guys not to make any fuss about it.

“Cake!” Jack was very excited, however. “Pisa an’ cake, Daddy!”

“Yes, it’s time for pizza and cake, though, Jack, you’re right.”  
“We picked up the cake, and Jack helped us make brownies, too.” Annabelle volunteered, looking relatively excited for a girl her age – probably it was the impending pizza party. Maybe she still thought the firehouse was cool. Sylvie couldn’t tell. Teenage girls were hard. Maybe it was a good thing they had two boys.  
“Alec sweep.” Jack shook his head, clearly disapproving of his brother’s decision to sleep rather than help make brownies. “Acuz Alec a baby.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be bigger like you soon, Peanut. The pizza should be here any minute,” Matt looked at Sylvie to confirm, and she nodded, “but for now, Jack, what do you think about a visit to the truck?”  
“Twuck! Twuck! Twuck!” Jack chanted, bouncing in Matt’s arms. “Up wadder, Daddy!”

“Uh…” Matt looked at her again, actually blushing, as she turned to glare at him.

“Matthew Casey, did you take our son up in the aerial, before he’s even two years old?” She had known Matt would never entirely follow her prohibition on letting their son go up the ladder, but she thought she had until he was school age. Preschool age, at least.

“Yes and no. It was barely extended, just outside on the drape, and I had him in my arms the entire time. His feet never touched a rung. We barely went up at all, just a few rungs.” Matt looked a combination of chagrined and apologetic, with a nice dose of ‘only sorry because you’re mad’ in there, too.  
“Busted.” Kelly laughed, slapping Matt on the shoulder that Jack wasn’t resting against.

“Unkelly twuck too!” Jack cried, still bouncing a bit.

“You want to see Uncle Kelly’s truck, too?” Matt asked, and Jack nodded with his whole body.

“An’ Uncwis too.”  
“Alright, all three trucks it is.” Matt laughed lightly. “If we have time, we’ll show you Mommy’s truck, too.”  
“ _Mommy_ twuck?” Jack looked awed.

“I know, you have the _best_ mommy ever, huh? She has a really special truck, called an ambulance. She helps sick and hurt people.” Matt explained, and Sylvie couldn’t help smiling more out of a sudden wave of intense fondness for her husband, who would talk her up to their toddler and completely mean it.

“Mommy twuck cool.” Jack concluded with a firm nod. Nodding was a new thing for him, and he was adorable doing it.  
“Yes, the ambulance is pretty cool.” Matt agreed.

“Big twuck?”  
“Ah, it’s big relative to you.” Matt chuckled.

“Daddy’s is the biggest, because.” Sylvie had to put in, starting to actually explain relative truck sizes, then felt herself blush when the entire staff of 51 broke out in laughter and half-said innuendo. She hadn’t actually meant that like that.

“I don’t know if a ‘that’s what she said’ joke fits there, given she’s his wife.” Gallo mused aloud.

“As his wife, I would know.” Sylvie decided to just run with the off-color joking. “And that’s definitely what she said.”  
“Sylvie.” Matt looked shocked, but also amused.

“What? Truck 81 is longer than any of the other vehicles.” Sylvie tried to play innocent, but knew she was completely failing. She barely stifled giggles as she finished, “you guys can even measure, if you don’t believe me.”

“ ** _TWUCK_** , Daddy!” Jack demanded, breaking up the laughter of the adults. He obviously had no idea what was going on, but the Hermann kids looked a bit amused and a bit awkwardly disturbed by ‘adults’ dirty jokes.

“Alright, Jack, let’s go see the truck.” Matt agreed easily. “Syl, you got Alec? He hasn’t really gotten an introduction to 81 yet.”

“Maybe not every male in my life needs to be introduced to your truck like it’s a family member.”  
“Nah, that’s not gonna happen.” Matt shot her a broad grin and a wink, as he carried Jack back out onto the apparatus floor. Of course, she followed with Alec because Matt was right – she wasn’t really going to stand in the way of him sharing any of his passions with his sons, even if one of those passions was being a firefighter. Though she was definitely having a word with him about toddlers on arial ladders.  
  


For once, Matt had managed not to injure himself or even have a particularly interesting call on his birthday. Shift had been quiet, and aside from a few mutterings about how they’d known Casey for over a decade and never knew his birthday – which Sylvie thought came from a combination of confusion but also slightly hurt feelings – the guys had gone along with Matt’s preference not to mark his birthday with anything more than pizza, cake, and brownies. It was so quiet, in fact, that Cindy and the kids had stayed until bedtime for Jack and Alec. Sylvie had slipped away to feed Alec, and the boys would survive without a bath for one night, it was just too sweet to see everyone else reacting to Matt hanging out with his sons. Alec conked out on Matt’s chest, where he was reclining on Sylvie’s bunk, Jack tucked into his side, and Sylvie on Howe’s bunk, and while they tried to be subtle, the guys had practically gathered around to listen to Matt tell bedtime stories. The boys were asleep when they were carried out to Cindy’s van to leave, and Sylvie hoped they stayed that way for the night. Well, Jack might, Alec would definitely not. While he was quieter about it than his brother, Alec had inherited the same tendency to have a complete meltdown when hungry. He’d be demanding his next meal around midnight, then hopefully sleep through to 5 am or so.

She felt a little guilty about dropping the boys off at the loft the next afternoon, because they’d just been away from their sons for 24 hours – well, mostly away, given the visit to the firehouse – and she worried they were neglecting them or just being selfish parents to leave their sons with friends for a second night in a row. It didn’t help that she’d googled on some mom message boards what age other people were leaving their children and even though it couldn’t possibly have been aimed at her given she hadn’t posted she ended up feeling very judged for even considering leaving her sons with someone else, ever, let alone for something as frivolous as just a night out with her husband. So she did what she almost always did when struggling with a parenting question: she called Mom.

“Sylvie, sweetheart, just because your choices don’t match someone else’s, that doesn’t make you wrong.” Mom sounded fondly exasperated.

“But the boys are so little, and maybe we should just stay home, I mean, it seems like we’ve left them a lot this fall, with engagement parties and Halloween and of course every third night for shift.”  
“Are your sons showing any distress?”  
“No, but it’s just normal to them, so-“  
“Exactly, it’s normal to them. You’re not leaving them with strangers, but with very close friends.” Mom paused. “Besides, I think spending a date-night with Matt is very important right now.”  
“We could do that without leaving them overnight.”  
“Not to be indelicate, but perhaps not having two babies in the house will help you reinvigorate your sex life.”  
“We’ve already done that.”  
“Mm-hmm.” Mom sounded like she didn’t entirely believe her, for some reason. “Spend the night focusing just on Matt. No worrying about the babies down the hall. Prioritizing Matt seems like it might be especially important right now, if he’s still not back in therapy. Just like you are teaching your boys to value themselves by how much you value them, I think you’re having to teach Matt the same lesson. Now, I’m sorry that you’re having to balance those things, and if you need babysitters, your father and I are always willing to take our grandsons, you know that.”  
“God, did I tell you Nancy was over the other night, complaining about not seeing Jack and Alec, but she left before she even saw them. We invited her to stay for dinner, to come over another night, and she just keeps blaming Matt for ‘keeping her from her grandsons’.”  
“Matt doesn’t even bother to hide how much he dislikes his stepfather. That can’t help.”  
“I don’t like Randy, either. He’s condescending and a jerk.”  
“That may be, but barring her husband is not the best way to make her feel welcome.”  
“Maybe she should’ve married a man who didn’t feel the need to belittle her son every time they’re in the same room.” Sylvie replied sharply. “If anyone talked to my boys like Randy talks to Matt, I’d…do something awful, it wouldn’t be marrying him, that’s for sure. But Matt says it’s really how Randy talks to me. He really talks down to people, especially women it seems, and Matt says he doesn’t want Jack and Alec to ever think that’s acceptable.”  
“He’s not wrong, but he’s also a little over-sensitive.” Mom sighed. “I suppose I’d much rather he be over-sensitive to it, though. How on Earth Nancy Casey or whatever her name is now ever raised that boy I do not know. Now, where are you taking him for his birthday dinner?”  
“Oh, uh, there’s this place called the Crab Cellar over in Lincoln Park, I had to book weeks ago, they only do reservations, and I am very definitely not telling Matt how much it costs, but he’s worth it. It’s all-you-can-eat crab and burgers, with side dishes too, and I probably won’t eat enough to really be worth the price, but Matt will.” Sylvie laughed. “You’ve seen him eat, Mom, there are times I wonder just how much of him is stomach.”  
“He loves crab, that will be wonderful.”  
“I don’t have specific plans for after dinner. If he wants a drink, I’m thinking the Duke of Perth, which is this Scottish pub known for its variety of whisky. We’ll come home tonight, but the boys are staying at Kelly and Stella’s for the night.” She paused, considering if the rest of her plans were oversharing, but given her mother’s interest in the ‘reinvigoration’ of their sex life, she supposed it wasn’t. “I also have my second Halloween costume to try on for him. No, you don’t need to know what it is, Mom, just… I think he’s going to like it.”

It had taken a little convincing for Matt to give her time to get dressed in something special for him after they got home from the bar. Dinner had been fantastically fun, and at the bar after she’d actually found a whiskey she didn’t hate, though Matt had teased her a little bit about it being a ‘sherry cask’ finish so of course she’d like a wine-related whiskey. She still didn’t like his smoky whatever whiskies, but she did like the taste of it in his mouth, and the ride home had involved quite a bit of her chasing the flavor, twining her tongue around his. He didn’t exactly complain. He’d made it clear that any change in attire was unnecessary, he was more looking to get her out of clothes than into another set, but in the end he was willing to indulge her. By the time her requested twenty minutes was up, she was ready for him – mostly because she’d already had the chosen bra on under her earlier dress. She heard Matt enter the master bedroom.

“Syl, you know I don’t need you to go to any trouble,”

She wasn’t surprised when he stopped speaking, as she stuck just one leg out from the master bath. She wasn’t about to sing or anything else to match her reference material, but this part she could do. The slit in this dress nearly reached the top of her thigh, and the red heels were high enough to make her legs look fantastic (and make her grateful she wasn’t going to be walking in them very long). She moved fully into the bedroom, trying to keep a straight face and look sexy or sultry or something, but Matt’s expression almost made her laugh. It was somewhere near astonished, with a bit of attacked, and a whole hell of a lot of aroused, which was really her goal. She’d bought the costume for Halloween, but then with the girls over it hadn’t seemed like the best idea to actually break it out, and she’d decided to keep it for his birthday celebration. She did a careful twirl, letting him see, the full-length red sequined dress that she’d had to tape onto her body since it was both strapless and backless, the top of her ass nearly visible it dipped so low, and the bodice cut so narrowly that she had side-boob. She’d foregone the wig, not wanting mess with it, but every other bit of the ‘Jessica Rabbit’ costume she had tried to match. If she was going to have giant boobs from two babies in fifteen months, she might as well let her husband enjoy the view while she had enough boob to make this outfit work.

“Fuck.” Matt stood pretty much frozen.

“Worth the trouble now?” She asked, smiling and winking at him.

“That is…fuck.”  
“I take it you approve?” She stood in a carefully thought out pose, her leg protruding from the slit as much as possible, letting him really see the length of her thigh, and leaning slightly forward to give him quite a bit of cleavage. She’d felt silly practicing in the mirror, but Matt’s glazed eyes made her feel distinctly sexy, not silly. Of course, she’d known going in that he’d had a thing for Jessica Rabbit when he was a boy (didn’t all boys of that generation?) but even in her microkini she’d not gotten this exact reaction.

“Fuck.” Matt half-muttered, then he pounced on her, one hand running up her exposed thigh while the other was on her back, pulling her against his body, and he kissed her like a man in the desert searching for water. Unfortunately, while the dress looked fantastic, it was too tight for him to be able to really get at what he wanted, which was between her legs, so after several minutes of wandering hands and a determined melding of their mouths, he finally pulled back.

“I don’t want to tear it.”  
“I’ll take it off, but first, I want you to take a picture.”  
“Sylvie, pictures are…a bad idea.” Matt shook his head. “Much as I love this look, anything on my phone-“  
“I know, so,” she held up a hand, reassuring him, “that is why I bought a separate digital camera that doesn’t leave our house, and there’s a protected file folder on your computer that only you and I will have the password to unlock. Just in case a little visual cue is helpful for times I’m not, uh, available.”  
“Are you giving me permission to take pictures of you to jack off to?” He looked both really turned on and a little skeptical.

“Only when I can’t be the one with a hand on your dick, yes.” She reached into her bedside drawer and handed him the new camera. “Nothing on our phones, or anything that we let anyone borrow, or that can be hacked, no sending anything to each other, just for you and me. Our eyes only.”  
“Is this…a mutual thing?”  
“If you’re asking if I want some photos of you, yes, yes I do.” She was completely honest with him. She also didn’t think it was exactly bad for his ego to remind him that he was a very handsome and sexy man. “Not necessarily tonight, but…I have a few outfits and positions I’d love to photograph you in.”  
“Syl,”  
“If you’re not comfortable yet, after everything with, everything, I get it. Just maybe, sometime-“  
“No, I think…I’m okay with it, just as long as nothing is ever in any cloud or internet source at all, ever. I know you would never do anything like that, I just couldn’t…again.”  
“So, you want to take a picture, so it’ll last longer?”

They took several photos of her in the outfit, and she didn’t miss Matt’s mostly subtle adjustments of the erection in his pants. Really, none of the pictures were horrifically risqué, she was fully dressed, but it clearly did quite a few things for him. Once he said he had the angles he thought he wanted, she stood back up from the bed and walked towards him.

“Now, then, I think it’s time for you to help me out of this dress.”

Once she was down to just her bra and the tiny red thong that actually worked with the dress, Matt pulled back, mouth gaping a little.

“What?”  
“Is that…what kind of bra is that?”  
“Oh, it’s sticky, no straps or back, for dresses like this, but it’s also, you know, kind of a push-up because while they’re bigger, the boobs aren’t as perky as they were before breastfeeding, and” she paused taking in the look in his eyes, “and you don’t care at all, do you?”  
“The physics of that thing interest me a little, but how do I get you out of it? Or do you want to leave it on, so I don’t…I’m not tempted to put my mouth where it isn’t supposed to go?”  
“I want to take it all off.” She admitted brazenly, “but not before you take all of your clothes off, mister. I’m practically naked and you’re still fully clothed.”

He started to unbutton his shirt, but she changed her mind, and gently grabbed his hands to stop him.

“I want to take your clothes off.” She stated, meeting his eyes fully. “All you’re going to do is stand there and let me touch you.”

She started with unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each bit of skin that became available to her, loving the little hitches in his breathing that told her she was definitely getting to him. Gently, she pushed the shirt from his left shoulder, then moved around behind him to slip it from his right. She tossed the shirt aside and concentrated on his back. She started with her hands, just lightly running her hands up and down his back, then started kissing his shoulders and down to the waist of his jeans, then back up the line of his spine. She paid extra-long attention to that spot just above his T7 vertebra that made him arch, but he didn’t pull away from her grip on his hips as she laved attention on that intimately sensitive spot. While he was distracted, she undid his belt, and pulled it from its loops. Just to tease him, she kept her hands on tops his trousers, though, rubbing at the prominent bulge lightly as she continued her oral attentions along his back and shoulders.

“Sylvie, please.”  
“You have a beautiful back.”  
“Uh…that’s…not…ah, fuck.” He arched, as she nipped lightly at that spot over his spine, and she knew it was a very, very, good ‘fuck’. It was a moment before he apparently found words again, “can a guy’s back even be beautiful?”  
“Yours is. Something about your back and shoulders makes me so fucking hot. And it’s not just the proximity to your fantastic ass.”  
“Are you going to come around and let me see you at some point? It is my birthday.”  
“It is indeed.” She agreed, keeping her hands on him as she moved back around to his front. She grabbed the waist of his trousers, pulling him towards her slightly, as she quickly undid both button and zipper. Slipping her hands between his trousers and his boxer-briefs, she pushed his pants down so he could step out of them. She slid as gracefully as she could to her knees, helping him take his socks off. Then she slowly moved her hands back up his legs, teasing across the front of his underwear for just a few moments, before also tugging those down. She stood up, but kept her body pressed closely against his, sliding along the length of his body, until she was kissing him again.

“Can you, is that uncomfortable?” Matt asked, once they were forced apart by the need for air.

“What?”  
“The bra thing, is it, can you wear it while we do this or is it uncomfortable?”  
“You like what it does for my tits that much?”  
“That and I’m too impatient to take it off right now unless I really have to.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“Good.” He managed, before he was kissing her again, invading her mouth with his tongue and she felt his hands somehow guiding her thong off without breaking the kiss. He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he moved them onto the bed. Once he had her on her back, he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, reminding her deliciously of just how strong he really was. It was easy to underestimate Matt, he was perfectly average in height after all, but he was really strong, and while she had plenty of room to writhe beneath him, she wasn’t going anywhere until he let her up, and she loved it.

“Fuck me, Matt. Please. Come inside me. Please. I need you, baby. Please fuck me.” She panted as he nipped his way down her neck. He growled, but shifted his hips, and that was all the response she needed. She opened her legs a tiny bit wider and wrapped her heels around the back of his thighs as he pressed into her, gently but inexorably. She grabbed his ass, encouraging him to move faster and deeper. “Please, Matt, please, fuck me hard, Matt, I’m yours, take me, please.”  
“Fuck.” His voice was low and deep with arousal, but he followed directions beautifully and he didn’t stay gentle long, moving harder and harder, and pushing her farther and farther towards the massive orgasm she felt building. She crashed over that last wave, clutching him to her even as he kept fucking her, hard and fast, driving himself to his own finish. “I love you, Sylvie.” He gasped, just as she felt his whole body sort of seize up, the way it did when he came, and she could feel him spurting inside her. His thrusts lightened up, but didn’t stop, and she could hear him still softly repeating over and over “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She woke up around 5 am, and the soreness of her breasts reminded her that she’d forgotten to pump yesterday evening and night. Alec was due for another feed, but Kelly and Stella weren’t bringing the boys back until after breakfast, probably 9 am or so. She was uncomfortably full, though, so she removed the sticky bra in the bathroom, tossed on her robe as the house was slightly chilly since it was mid-November, then moved downstairs to find the pump she’d probably left in the kitchen.

She came back upstairs feeling much better, having pumped both breasts down to a comfortable level of milk. She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight. Matt slept hot, and in the time she’d been out of the bed apparently he’d decided covers were unnecessary. She grabbed the camera and took a few pictures for her own collection. She’d show them to him later, make sure he was truly okay with it when his brain wasn’t mostly firing on sexual arousal, but she really wanted to keep these. She didn’t know how to make him see how incredibly stupidly attractive he was, naked, face-down, in her bed, his legs spread just enough to see his balls between his thighs, and that gorgeous muscular expanse of back and shoulders…oh, fuck it, they had time this morning and she didn’t think he’d mind being woken up for more sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly through this story, possibly this series. 
> 
> No idea if I'm going to continue this series after this story. I'm not going to call it either way, but the series will be marked as "completed" after this story, just in case I don't get inspired to do a part 7. I have some ideas, but nothing that has coalesced into a fully-formed full-length fic yet. I've had a lot of hits on this story, but not a lot of kudos or comments, so I can't tell interest, but I wanted to be clear for those who are interested in whether or not it will continue. I appreciate all the kudos and comments from those who've left them - it's always good to know the readers are enjoying the ride!


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